BY 


STEPHEN     CRANE 


,1 


WfrMs' 

University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


LOCKVVOOn 
MEMORIAL  LIBRARY 
OF  THE  VNIVERSITY 

OF  BVFKALO,  PRE 
SEN  UY  GEORGE 

?'HAN  NEWMAN  OF 
BVFFALO  NEW  YORK 


MAGGIE 
A  GIRL  OF  THE  STREETS 


Red  Badge  of  Courage. 


An   Episode  of  the  American  Civil  War.     By   STE 
PHEN  CRANE.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  Never  before  have  we  had  the  seamy  side  of  glorious  war  so 
well  depicted."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Of  such  interest  that  no  one  having  begun  it  will  lay  it  aside 
until  the  end  is  reached."  —  Philadelphia  Ledger. 

"  We  have  had  many  stories  of  the  war  ;  this  stands  abso 
lutely  alone."  —  Boston  Transcript, 

"  Has  no  parallel,  unless  it  be  Tolstoy's  '  Sebastopol.'  "  —  San 
Francisco  Chronicle. 

"A  strong  book,  and  it  is  a  true  book;  true  to  life."—  The 
Critic. 

"  Has  been  surpassed  by  few  writers  dealing  with  war."  —  New 
York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  So  vivid  is  the  picture  of  actual  conflict  that  the  reader  comes 
face  to  face  with  war."  —  Atlantic  Monthly. 

"  Original,  striking,  astonishing,  powerful  ;  holding  the  atten 
tion  with  the  force  of  genius."  —  Louisville  Post. 

"  The  best  novel  which  the  war  has  yet  produced."  —  Kansas 
City  Journal. 


New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


MAGGIE 

A    GIRL    OF    THE    STREETS 


BY 

STEPHEN    CRANE 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  RED 
BADGE  OF 
COURAGE 


NEW  YORK 
D.   APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 

1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


Copyright,  1893,  by  Stephen  Crane. 


PUBLISHER'S   NOTE. 


THE  interest  which  has  been  shown  in  The 
Red  Badge  of  Courage  has  been  most  gratify 
ing,  but  it  has  also  involved  a  few  inaccu 
racies  of  statement  in  regard  to  the  history 
of  Mr.  Crane's  literary  work.  The  Red 
Badge  of  Courage  was  offered  to  and  ac 
cepted  by  the  publishers  in  December,  1894, 
and  it  was  published  in  October,  1895.  As 
it  happened,  the  actual  publication  in  Eng 
land  came  some  two  months  later.  By  that 
time  the  American  press  had  appreciated  the 
quality  of  the  book  so  cordially  and  unani 
mously  as  to  dispose  of  the  lingering  tradi 
tion  that  only  a  well-known  author,  or  an 
author  with  the  hall  mark  of  foreign  approval, 
is  recognised  by  our  reviewers. 

As  to  the  book  which  succeeds  The  Red 


vi  PUBLISHER'S  NOTE. 

Badge  of  Courage,  it  should  be  said  that 
Maggie  has  never  been  published  before, 
even  in  serial  form.  The  story  was  put  into 
type  and  copyrighted  by  Mr.  Crane  three 
years  ago,  but  this  real  and  strenuous  tale 
of  New  York  life  is  now  given  to  the  public 
for  the  first  time. 


MAGGIE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A  VERY  little  boy  stood  upon  a  heap  of 
gravel  for  the  honour  of  Rum  Alley.  He 
was  throwing  stones  at  howling  urchins  from 
Devil's  Row,  who  were  circling  madly  about 
the  heap  and  pelting  him. 

His  infantile  countenance  was  livid  with 
the  fury  of  battle.  His  small  body  was  writh 
ing  in  the  delivery  of  oaths. 

"  Run,  Jimmie,  run  !  Dey'll  git  yehs  !  " 
screamed  a  retreating  Rum  Alley  child. 

"  Naw,"  responded  Jimmie  with  a  valiant 
roar,  "  dese  mugs  can't  make  me  run." 

Howls  of  renewed  wrath  went  up  from 
Devil's  Row  throats.  Tattered  gamins  on 
the  right  made  a  furious  assault  on  the 


2  MAGGIE. 

gravel  heap.  On  their  small  convulsed  faces 
shone  the  grins  of  true  assassins.  As  they 
charged,  they  threw  stones  and  cursed  in 
shrill  chorus. 

The  little  champion  of  Rum  Alley  stum 
bled  precipitately  down  the  other  side.  His 
coat  had  been  torn  to  shreds  in  a  scuffle  and 
his  hat  was  gone.  He  had  bruises  on  twenty 
parts  of  his  body,  and  blood  was  dripping 
from  a  cut  in  his  head.  His  wan  features 
looked  like  those  of  a  tiny  insane  demon. 

On  the  ground,  children  from  Devil's  Row 
closed  in  on  their  antagonist.  He  crooked 
his  left  arm  defensively  about  his  head  and 
fought  with  madness.  The  little  boys  ran  to 
and  fro,  dodging,  hurling  stones,  and  swearing 
in  barbaric  trebles. 

From  a  window  of  an  apartment  house 
that  uprose  from  amid  squat  ignorant  stables 
there  leaned  a  curious  woman.  Some  la 
bourers,  unloading  a  scow  at  a  dock  at  the 
river,  paused  for  a  moment  and  regarded  the 
fight.  The  engineer  of  a  passive  tugboat 


MAGGIE.  3 

hung  lazily  over  a  railing  and  watched.  Over 
on  the  island  a  worm  of  yellow  convicts 
came  from  the  shadow  of  a  gray  ominous 
building  and  crawled  slowly  along  the  river's 
bank. 

A  stone  had  smashed  in  Jimmie's  mouth. 
Blood  was  bubbling  over  his  chin  and  down 
upon  his  ragged  shirt.  Tears  made  furrows 
on  his  dirt-stained  cheeks.  His  thin  legs  had 
begun  to  tremble  and  turn  weak,  causing  his 
small  body  to  reel.  His  roaring  curses  of  the 
first  part  of  the  fight  had  changed  to  a  blas 
phemous  chatter. 

In  the  yells  of  the  whirling  mob  of  Devil's 
Row  children  there  were  notes  of  joy  like 
songs  of  triumphant  savagery.  The  little 
boys  seemed  to  leer  gloatingly  at  the  blood 
upon  the  other  child's  face. 

Down  the  avenue  came  boastfully  saun 
tering  a  lad  of  sixteen  years,  although  the 
chronic  sneer  of  an  ideal  manhood  already 
sat  upon  his  lips.  His  hat  was  tipped  over 
his  eye  with  an  air  of  challenge.  Between 


4  MAGGIE. 

his  teeth,  a  cigar  stump  was  tilted  at  the 
angle  of  defiance.  He  walked  with  a  certain 
swing  of  the  shoulders  which  appalled  the 
timid.  He  glanced  over  into  the  vacant  lot 
in  which  the  little  raving  boys  from  Devil's 
Row  seethed  about  the  shrieking  and  tearful 
child  from  Rum  Alley. 

"  Gee !  "  he  murmured  with  interest,  "  a 
scrap.  Gee !  " 

He  strode  over  to  the  cursing  circle, 
swinging  his  shoulders  in  a  manner  which 
denoted  that  he  held  victory  in  his  fists. 
He  approached  at  the  back  of  one  of  the 
most  deeply  engaged  of  the  Devil's  Row 
children. 

"Ah,  what  d'  h — 11,"  he  said,  and  smote 
the  deeply  engaged  one  on  the  back  of  the 
head.  The  little  boy  fell  to  the  ground  and 
gave  a  tremendous  howl.  He  scrambled  to 
his  feet,  and  perceiving,  evidently,  the  size 
of  his  assailant,  ran  quickly  off,  shouting 
alarms.  The  entire  Devil's  Row  party  fol 
lowed  him.  They  came  to  a  stand  a  short 


MAGGIE.  5 

distance  away  and  yelled  taunting  oaths  at 
the  boy  with  the  chronic  sneer.  The  latter, 
momentarily,  paid  no  attention  to  them. 

"What's  wrong  wi'che,  Jimmie?"  he 
asked  of  the  small  champion. 

Jimmie  wiped  his  blood-wet  features  with 
his  sleeve. 

"  Well,  it  was  dis  way,  Pete,  see  !  I  was 
goin'  teh  lick  dat  Riley  kid  and  dey  all 
pitched  on  me." 

Some  Rum  Alley  children  now  came  for 
ward.  The  party  stood  for  a  moment  ex 
changing  vainglorious  remarks  with  Devil's 
Row.  A  few  stones  were  thrown  at  long  dis 
tances,  and  words  of  challenge  passed  be 
tween  small  warriors.  Then  the  Rum  Alley 
contingent  turned  slowly  in  the  direction  of 
their  home  street.  They  began  to  give,  each 
to  each,  distorted  versions  of  the  fight. 
Causes  of  retreat  in  particular  cases  were 
magnified.  Blows  dealt  in  the  fight  were 
enlarged  to  catapultian  power,  and  stones 
thrown  were  alleged  to  have  hurtled  with 


6  MAGGIE. 

infinite  accuracy.  Valour  grew  strong  again, 
and  the  little  boys  began  to  brag  with  great 
spirit. 

"  Ah,  we  blokies  kin  lick  d'  hull  d — n 
Row,"  said  a  child,  swaggering. 

Little  Jimmie  was  striving  to  stanch  the 
flow  of  blood  from  his  cut  lips.  Scowling,  he 
turned  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Ah,  where  was  yehs  when  I  was  doin'  all 
deh  fightin'?"  he  demanded.  "  Youse  kids 
makes  me  tired." 

"Ah,  go  ahn ! "  replied  the  other  argu- 
mentatively. 

Jimmie  replied  with  heavy  contempt. 
"Ah,  youse  can't  fight,  Blue  Billie !  I  kin 
lick  yeh  wid  one  han'." 

"  Ah,  go  ahn ! "  replied  Billie  again. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Jimmie  threateningly. 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  other  in  the  same 
tone. 

They  struck  at  each  other,  clinched,  and 
rolled  over  on  the  cobblestones. 

"  Smash    'im,    Jimmie,    kick    d'    face    off 


MAGGIE.  7 

'im  ! "  yelled  Pete,  the  lad   with   the    chronic 
sneer,  in  tones  of  delight. 

The  small  combatants  pounded  and 
kicked,  scratched  and  tore.  They  began  to 
weep  and  their  curses  struggled  in  their 
throats  with  sobs.  The  other  little  boys 
clasped  their  hands  and  wriggled  their  legs 
in  excitement.  They  formed  a  bobbing  cir 
cle  about  the  pair. 

A  tiny  spectator  was  suddenly  agitated. 

"  Cheese  it,  Jimmy,  cheese  it !  Here 
comes  yer  fader,"  he  yelled. 

The  circle  of  little  boys  instantly  parted. 
They  drew  away  and  waited  in  ecstatic  awe 
for  that  which  was  about  to  happen.  The 
two  little  boys,  fighting  in  the  modes  of 
four  thousand  years  ago,  did  not  hear  the 
warning. 

Up  the  avenue  there  plodded  slowly  a 
man  with  sullen  eyes.  He  was  carrying  a 
dinner  pail  and  smoking  an  apple-wood 
pipe. 

As   he   neared   the   spot  where    the   little 


8  MAGGIE. 

boys  strove,  he  regarded  them  listlessly.  But 
suddenly  he  roared  an  oath  and  advanced 
upon  the  rolling  fighters. 

"  Here,  you  Jim,  git  up,  now,  while  I  belt 
yer  life  out,  yeh  disorderly  brat." 

He  began  to  kick  into  the  chaotic  mass 
on  the  ground.  The  boy  Billie  felt  a  heavy 
boot  strike  his  head.  He  made  a  furious 
effort  and  disentangled  himself  from  Jimmie. 
He  tottered  away. 

Jimmie  arose  painfully  from  the  ground 
and  confronting  his  father,  began  to  curse 
him.  His  parent  kicked  him.  "  Come  home, 
now,"  he  cried,  "an'  stop  yer  jawin',  er  I'll 
lam  the  everlasting  head  off  yehs." 

They  departed.  The  man  paced  placidly 
along  with  the  apple-wood  emblem  of  serenity 
between  his  teeth.  The  boy  followed  a  dozen 
feet  in  the  rear.  He  swore  luridly,  for  he  felt 
that  it  was  degradation  for  one  who  aimed  to 
be  some  vague  kind  of  a  soldier,  or  a  man  of 
blood  with  a  sort  of  sublime  license,  to  be 
taken  home  by  a  father. 


CHAPTER   II. 

EVENTUALLY  they  entered  a  dark  region 
where,  from  a  careening  building,  a  dozen 
gruesome  doorways  gave  up  loads  of  babies 
to  the  street  and  the  gutter.  A  wind  of  early 
autumn  raised  yellow  dust  from  cobbles  and 
swirled  it  against  a  hundred  windows.  Long 
streamers  of  garments  fluttered  from  fire- 
escapes.  In  all  unhandy  places  there  were 
buckets,  brooms,  rags,  and  bottles.  In  the 
street  infants  played  or  fought  with  other 
infants  or  sat  stupidly  in  the  way  of  vehicles. 
Formidable  women,  with  uncombed  hair  and 
disordered  dress,  gossipped  while  leaning  on 
railings,  or  screamed  in  frantic  quarrels. 
Withered  persons,  in  curious  postures  of 
submission  to  something,  sat  smoking  pipes 

in   obscure  corners.     A   thousand    odours    of 

9 


10  MAGGIE. 

cooking  food  came  forth  to  the  street.  The 
building  quivered  and  creaked  from  the 
weight  of  humanity  stamping  about  in  its 
bowels. 

A  small  ragged  girl  dragged  a  red,  bawl 
ing  infant  along  the  crowded  ways.  He  was 
hanging  back,  babylike,  bracing  his  wrinkled, 
bare  legs. 

The  little  girl  cried  out:  "Ah,  Tommie, 
come  ahn.  Dere's  Jimmie  and  fader.  Don't 
be  a-pullin'  me  back." 

She  jerked  the  baby's  arm  impatiently. 
He  fell  on  his  face,  roaring.  With  a  second 
jerk  she  pulled  him  to  his  feet,  and  they 
went  on.  With  the  obstinacy  of  his  order, 
he  protested  against  being  dragged  in  a 
chosen  direction.  He  made  heroic  endeav 
ours  to  keep  on  his  legs,  denounced  his  sister, 
and  consumed  a  bit  of  orange  peeling  which 
he  chewed  between  the  times  of  his  infantile 
orations. 

As  the  sullen-eyed  man,  followed  by  the 
blood-covered  boy,  drew  near,  the  little  girl 


MAGGIE.  1 1 

burst  into  reproachful  cries.  "Ah,  Jimmie, 
youse  bin  fightin'  agin." 

The  urchin  swelled  disdainfully. 

"Ah,  what  d'  h— 1,  Mag.     See?" 

The  little  girl  upbraided  him.  "  Youse 
allus  fightin',  Jimmie,  an*  yeh  knows  it  puts 
mudder  out  when  yehs  come  home  half  dead, 
an'  it's  like  we'll  all  get  a  poundin'." 

She  began  to  weep.  The  babe  threw  back 
his  head  and  roared  at  his  prospects. 

"Ah,"  cried  Jimmie,  "shut  up  er  I'll  smack 
yer  mout'.  See?" 

As  his  sister  continued  her  lamentations, 
he  suddenly  struck  her.  The  little  girl  reeled 
and,  recovering  herself,  burst  into  tears  and 
quaveringly  cursed  him.  As  she  slowly  re 
treated,  her  brother  advanced  dealing  her 
'cuffs.  The  father  heard  and  turned  about. 

"Stop  that,  Jim,  d'yeh  hear?  Leave  yer 
sister  alone  on  the  street.  It's  like  I  can 
never  beat  any  sense  into  yer  wooden  head." 

The  urchin  raised  his  voice  in  defiance  to 
his  parent  and  continued  his  attacks.  The 


12  MAGGIE. 


babe  bawled  tremendously,  protesting  with 
great  violence.  During  his  sister's  hasty 
manoeuvres  he  was  dragged  by  the  arm. 

Finally  the  procession  plunged  into  one  of 
the  gruesome  doorways.  They  crawled  up 
dark  stairways  and  along  cold,  gloomy  halls. 
At  last  the  father  pushed  open  a  door  and 
they  entered  a  lighted  room  in  which  a  large 
woman  was  rampant. 

She  stopped  in  a  career  from  a  seething 
stove  to  a  pan-covered  table.  As  the  father 
and  children  filed  in  she  peered  at  them. 

"Eh,  what?  Been  fightin'  agin!"  She 
threw  herself  upon  Jimmie.  The  urchin  tried 
to  dart  behind  the  others,  and  in  the  scuffle 
the  babe,  Tommie,  was  knocked  down.  He 
protested  with  his  usual  vehemence,  because 
they  had  bruised  his  tender  shins  against  a 
table  leg. 

The  mother's  massive  shoulders  heaved 
with  anger.  Grasping  the  urchin  by  the  neck 
and  shoulder  she  shook  him  until  he  rattled. 
She  dragged  him  to  an  unholy  sink,  and, 


MAGGIE.  I3 

soaking  a  rag  in  water,  began  to  scrub  his 
lacerated  face  with  it.  Jimmie  screamed  in 
pain  and  tried  to  twist  his  shoulders  out  of 
the  clasp  of  the  huge  arms. 

The  babe  sat  on  the  floor  watching  the 
scene,  his  face  in  contortions  like  that  of  a 
woman  at  a  tragedy.  The  father,  with  a 
newly  ladened  pipe  in  his  mouth,  sat  in  a 
backless  chair  near  the  stove.  Jimmie's  cries 
annoyed  him.  He  turned  about  and  bellowed 
at  his  wife  : 

"  Let  the  kid  alone  for  a  minute,  will  yeh, 
Mary?  Yer  allus  poundin'  'im.  When  I 
come  nights  I  can't  git  no  rest  'cause  yer 
allus  poundin'  a  kid.  Let  up,  d'yeh  hear? 
Don't  be  allus  poundin'  a  kid." 

The  woman's  operations  on  the  urchin  in 
stantly  increased  in  violence.  At  last  she 
tossed  him  to  a  corner  where  he  limply  lay 
weeping. 

The  wife  put  her  immense  hands  on  her 
hips,  and  with  a  chieftainlike  stride  ap 
proached  her  husband. 


I4  MAGGIE. 

"  Ho! "  she  said,  with  a  great  grunt  of  con 
tempt.  "  An'  what  in  the  devil  are  you  stick- 
in*  your  nose  for  ?  " 

The  babe  crawled  under  the  table  and, 
turning,  peered  out  cautiously.  The  ragged 
girl  retreated,  and  the  urchin  in  the  corner 
drew  his  legs  carefully  beneath  him. 

The  man  puffed  his  pipe  calmly  and  put 
his  great  muddied  boots  on  the  back  part  of 
the  stove. 

"  Go  t'  h— 1,"  he  said  tranquilly. 

The  woman  screamed  and  shook  her  fists 
before  her  husband's  eyes.  The  rough  yel 
low  of  her  face  and  neck  flared  suddenly 
crimson.  She  began  to  howl. 

He  puffed  imperturbably  at  his  pipe  for  a 
time,  but  finally  arose  and  went  to  look  out 
of  the  window  into  the  darkening  chaos  of 
back  yards. 

"  You've  been  drinkin',  Mary,"  he  said. 
"  You'd  better  let  up  on  the  bot',  ol'  woman, 
or  you'll  git  done." 

"  You're  a  liar.     I  ain't  had  a  drop,"  she 


MAGGIE.  !5 

roared  in  reply.  They  had  a  lurid  alterca 
tion. 

The  babe  was  staring  out  from  under  the 
table,  his  small  face  working  in  his  excite 
ment.  The  ragged  girl  went  stealthily  over 
to  the  corner  where  the  urchin  lay. 

"  Are  yehs  hurted  much,  Jimmie  ? "  she 
whispered  timidly. 

"Not  a  little  bit.  See?"  growled  the 
little  boy. 

"Will  I  wash  df  blood?" 

"  Naw ! " 

"  Will  I " 

"  When  I  catch  dat  Riley  kid  I'll  break  'is 
face!  Dat's  right!  See?" 

He  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  as  if  re 
solved  grimly  to  bide  his  time. 

In  the  quarrel  between  husband  and  wife 
the  woman  was  victor.  The  man  seized  his 
hat  and  rushed  from  the  room,  apparently  de 
termined  upon  a  vengeful  drunk.  She  fol 
lowed  to  the  door  and  thundered  at  him  as 
he  made  his  way  downstairs. 


l6  MAGGIE. 

She  returned  and  stirred  up  the  room 
until  her  children  were  bobbing  about  like 
bubbles. 

"  Git  outa  d'  way/'  she  bawled  persist 
ently,  waving  feet  with  their  dishevelled 
shoes  near  the  heads  of  her  children.  She 
shrouded  herself,  puffing  and  snorting,  in  a 
cloud  of  steam  at  the  stove,  and  eventually 
extracted  a  frying  pan  full  of  potatoes  that 
hissed. 

She  flourished  it.  "  Come  t'  yer  suppers, 
now,"  she  cried  with  sudden  exasperation. 
"  Hurry  up,  now,  er  I'll  help  yeh  ! " 

The  children  scrambled  hastily.  With 
prodigious  clatter  they  arranged  themselves 
at  table.  The  babe  sat  with  his  feet  dan 
gling  high  from  a  precarious  infant's  chair 
and  gorged  his  small  stomach.  Jimmie 
forced,  with  feverish  rapidity,  the  grease- 
enveloped  pieces  between  his  wounded 
lips.  Maggie,  with  side  glances  of  fear  of 
interruption,  ate  like  a  small  pursued  ti 
gress. 


MAGGIE.  ij 

The  mother  sat  blinking  at  them.  She  de 
livered  reproaches,  swallowed  potatoes,  and 
drank  from  a  yellow-brown  bottle.  After  a 
time  her  mood  changed  and  she  wept  as  she 
carried  little  Tommie  into  another  room  and 
laid  him  to  sleep,  with  his  fists  doubled,  in  an 
old  quilt  of  faded  red  and  green  grandeur. 
Then  she  came  and  moaned  by  the  stove. 
She  rocked  to  and  fro  upon  a  chair,  shedding 
tears  and  crooning  miserably  to  the  two  chil 
dren  about  their  "poor  mother"  and  "yer 
fader,  d — n  'is  soul." 

The  little  girl  plodded  between  the  table 
and  the  chair  with  a  dish  pan  on  it.  She 
tottered  on  her  small  legs  beneath  burdens  of 
dishes. 

Jimmie  sat  nursing  his  various  wounds. 
He  cast  furtive  glances  at  his  mother.  His 
practised  eye  perceived  her  gradually  emerge 
from  a  mist  of  muddled  sentiment  until  her 
brain  burned  in  drunken  heat.  He  sat  breath 
less. 

Maggie  broke  a  plate. 


!8  MAGGIE. 

The  mother  started  to  her  feet  as  if  pro 
pelled. 

"  Good  Gawd !  "  she  howled.  Her  glitter- 
ing  eyes  fastened  on  her  child  with  sudden 
hatred.  The  fervent  red  of  her  face  turned 
almost  to  purple.  The  little  boy  ran  to  the 
halls,  shrieking  like  a  monk  in  an  earth 
quake. 

He  floundered  about  in  darkness  until  he 
found  the  stairs.  He  stumbled,  panic-strick 
en,  to  the  next  floor.  An  old  woman  opened 
a  door.  A  light  behind  her  threw  a  flare  on 
the  urchin's  face. 

"  Eh,  child,  what  is  it  dis  time  ?  Is  yer 
fader  beatin'  yer  mudder,  or  yer  mudder 
beatin'  yer  fader  ?  " 


CHAPTER   III. 

JIMMIE  and  the  old  woman  listened  long 
in  the  hall.  Above  the  muffled  roar  of  con 
versation,  the  dismal  wailings  of  babies  at 
night,  the  thumping  of  feet  in  unseen  corri 
dors  and  rooms,  and  the  sound  of  varied 
hoarse  shoutings  in  the  street  and  the  rat 
tling  of  wheels  over  cobbles,  they  heard  the 
screams  of  the  child  and  the  roars  of  the 
mother  die  away  to  a  feeble  moaning  and  a 
subdued  bass  muttering. 

The  old  woman  was  a  gnarled  and  leath 
ery  personage  who  could  don,  at  will,  an  ex 
pression  of  great  virtue.  She  possessed  a 
small  music  box  capable  of  one  tune,  and  a 
collection  of  "  God  bless  yehs  "  pitched  in  as 
sorted  keys  of  fervency.  Each  day  she  took 

a  position  upon  the   stones  of  Fifth  Avenue, 
19 


20  MAGGIE. 

where  she  crooked  her  legs  under  her  and 
crouched,  immovable  and  hideous,  like  an  idol. 
She  received  daily  a  small  sum  in  pennies. 
It  was  contributed,  for  the  most  part,  by  per 
sons  who  did  not  make  their  homes  in  that 
vicinity. 

Once,  when  a  lady  had  dropped  her  purse 
on  the  sidewalk,  the  gnarled  woman  had 
grabbed  it  and  smuggled  it  with  great  dexter 
ity  beneath  her  cloak.  When  she  was  ar 
rested  she  had  cursed  the  lady  into  a  partial 
swoon,  and  with  her  aged  limbs,  twisted 
from  rheumatism,  had  kicked  the  breath  out 
of  a  huge  policeman  whose  conduct  upon  that 
occasion  she  referred  to  when  she  said,  "  The 
police,  d — n  'em  !  " 

"  Eh,  Jimmie,  it's  a  shame,"  she  said. 
"  Go,  now,  like  a  dear  an'  buy  me  a  can,  an' 
if  yer  mudder  raises  'ell  all  night  yehs  can 
sleep  here." 

Jimmie  took  a  tendered  tin  pail  and  seven 
pennies  and  departed.  He  passed  into  the 
side  door  of  a  saloon  and  went  to  the  bar. 


MAGGIE.  2 1 

Straining  up  on  his  toes  he  raised  the  pail 
and  pennies  as  high  as  his  arms  would  let 

him.      He    saw   two   hands   thrust   down   to 

I 

take  them.  Directly  the  same  hands  let 
down  the  filled  pail  and  he  left. 

In  front  of  the  gruesome  doorway  he  met 
a  lurching  figure.  It  was  his  father,  swaying 
about  on  uncertain  legs. 

"  Give  me  deh  can.  See  ? "  said  the 
man. 

"Ah,  come  off!  I  got  dis  can  fer  dat  ol' 
woman  an'  it  'ud  be  dirt  teh  swipe  it.  See  ?  " 
cried  Jirnmie. 

The  father  wrenched  the  pail  from  the 
urchin.  He  grasped  it  in  both  hands  and 
lifted  it  to  his  mouth.  He  glued  his  lips  to 
the  under  edge  and  tilted  his  head.  His 
throat  swelled  until  it  seemed  to  grow  near 
his  chin.  There  was  a  tremendous  gulping 
movement  and  the  beer  was  gone. 

The  man  caught  his  breath  and  laughed. 
He  hit  his  son  on  the  head  with  the  empty 
pail.  As  it  rolled  clanging  into  the  street, 


22  MAGGIE. 

Jimmie  began  to  scream,  and  kicked  repeat 
edly  at  his  father's  shins. 

"  Look  at  deh  dirt  what  yeh  done  me,"  he 
yelled.  "  Deh  ol'  woman  'ill  be  trowin'  fits." 

He  retreated  to  the  middle  of  the  street, 
but  the  man  did  not  pursue.  He  staggered 
toward  the  door. 

"  I'll  paste  yeh  when  I  ketch  yeh ! "  he 
shouted,  and  disappeared. 

During  the  evening  he  had  been  standing 
against  a  bar  drinking  whiskies  and  declaring 
to  all  comers,  confidentially :  "  My  home 
reg'lar  livin'  h — 1!  Why  do  I  come  an'  drin' 
whisk'  here  thish  way  ?  'Cause  home  reg'lar 
livin'  h— 1 !  " 

Jimmie  waited  a  long  time  in  the  street 
and  then  crept  warily  up  through  the  build 
ing.  He  passed  with  great  caution  the  door 
of  the  gnarled  woman,  and  finally  stopped 
outside  his  home  and  listened. 

He  could  hear  his  mother  moving  heavily 
about  among  the  furniture  of  the  room.  She 
was  chanting  in  a  mournful  voice,  occasion- 


MAGGIE.  23 

f 

ally  interjecting  bursts  of  volcanic  wrath  at 
the  father,  who,  Jimmie  judged,  had  sunk 
down  on  the  floor  or  in  a  corner. 

"  Why  deh  blazes  don'  chere  try  teh  keep 
Jim  from  fightin'?  I'll  break  yer  jaw  !  "  she 
suddenly  bellowed. 

The  man  mumbled  with  drunken  indiffer 
ence.  "  Ah,  Wats  bitin'  yeh?  Wa's  odds? 
Wha'  makes  kick?" 

"  Because  he  tears  'is  clothes,  yeh  fool ! " 
cried  the  woman  in  supreme  wrath. 

The  husband  seemed  to  become  aroused. 
"Go  chase  yerself!"  he  thundered  fiercely 
in  reply.  There  was  a  crash  against  the 
door  and  something  broke  into  clattering 
fragments.  Jimmie  partially  suppressed  a 
yell  and  darted  down  the  stairway.  Below 
he  paused  and  listened.  He  heard  howls 
and  curses,  groans  and  shrieks — a  confused 
chorus  as  if  a  battle  were  raging.  With  it 
all  there  was  the  crash  of  splintering  furni 
ture.  The  eyes  of  the  urchin  glared  in  his 
fear  that  one  of  them  would  discover  him. 


24  MAGGIE. 

Curious  faces  appeared  in  doorways,  and 
whispered  comments  passed  to  and  fro.  "  Ol' 
Johnson's  playin'^horse  agin." 

Jimmie  stood  until  the  noises  ceased  and 
the  other  inhabitants  of  the  tenement  had  all 
yawned  and  shut  their  doors.  Then  he 
crawled  upstairs  with  the  caution  of  an  in 
vader  of  a  panther's  den.  Sounds  of  laboured 
breathing-  came  through  the  broken  door 
panels.  He  pushed  the  door  open  and  en 
tered,  quaking. 

A  glow  from  the  fire  threw  red  hues  over 
the  bare  floor,  the  cracked  and  soiled  plaster 
ing,  and  the  overturned  and  broken  furni 
ture. 

In  the  middle  of  the  floor  lay  his  mother 
asleep.  In  one  corner  of  the  room  his 
father's  limp  body  hung  across  the  seat  of 
a  chair. 

The  urchin  stole  forward.  He  began  to 
shiver  in  dread  of  awakening  his  parents. 
His  mother's  great  chest  was  heaving  pain 
fully.  Jimmie  paused  and  looked  down  at 


MAGGIE.  25 

her.  Her  face  was  inflamed  and  swollen  from 
drinking.  Her  yellow  brows  shaded  eyelids 
that  had  grown  blue.  Her  tangled  hair 
tossed  in  waves  over  her  forehead.  Her 
mouth  was  set  in  the  same  lines  of  vindictive 
hatred  that  it  had,  perhaps,  borne  during  the 
fight.  Her  bare,  red  arms  were  thrown  out 
above  her  head  in  an  attitude  of  exhaustion, 
something,  mayhap,  like  that  of  a  sated 
villain. 

The  urchin  bent  over  his  mother.  He 
was  fearful  lest  she  should  open  her  eyes, 
and  the  dread  within  him  was  so  strong 
that  he  could  not  forbear  to  stare,  but  hung 
as  if  fascinated  over  the  woman's  grim  face. 

Suddenly  her  eyes  opened.  The  urchin 
found  himself  looking  straight  into  an  ex 
pression,  which,  it  would  seem,  had  the  power 
to  change  his  blood  to  salt.  He  howled 
piercingly  and  fell  backward. 

The  woman  floundered  for  a  moment, 
tossed  her  arms  about  her  head  as  if  in  com 
bat,  and  again  began  to  snore. 


26  MAGGIE. 

Jimmie  crawled  back  into  the  shadows 
and  waited.  A  noise  in  the  next  room  had 
followed  his  cry  at  the  discovery  that  his 
mother  was  awake.  He  grovelled  in  the 
gloom,  his  eyes  riveted  upon  the  intervening 
door. 

He  heard  it  creak,  and  then  the  sound  of 
a  small  voice  came  to  him.  "  Jimmie !  Jim 
mie !  Are  yehs  dere?"  it  whispered.  The 
urchin  started.  The  thin,  white  face  of  his 
sister  looked  at  him  from  the  doorway  of  the 
other  room.  She  crept  to  him  across  the 
floor. 

The  father  had  not  moved,  but  lay  in  the 
same  deathlike  sleep.  The  mother  writhed 
in  an  uneasy  slumber,  her  chest  wheezing  as  if 
she  were  in  the  agonies  of  strangulation.  Out 
at  the  window  a  florid  moon  was  peering  over 
dark  roofs,  and  in  the  distance  the  waters  of  a 
river  glimmered  pallidly. 

The  small  frame  of  the  ragged  girl  was 
quivering.  Her  features  were  haggard  from 
weeping,  and  her  eyes  gleamed  with  fear. 


MAGGIE.  27 

She  grasped  the  urchin's  arm  in  her  little 
trembling  hands  and  they  huddled  in  a  cor 
ner.  The  eyes  of  both  were  drawn,  by  some 
force,  to  stare  at  the  woman's  face,  for  they 
thought  she  need  only  to  awake  and  all  the 
fiends  would  come  from  below. 

They  crouched  until  the  ghost  mists  of 
dawn  appeared  at  the  window,  drawing  close 
to  the  panes,  and  looking  in  at  the  prostrate, 
heaving  body  of  the  mother. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  babe,  Tommie,  died.  He  went  away 
in  an  insignificant  coffin,  his  small  waxen  hand 
clutching  a  flower  that  the  girl,  Maggie,  had 
stolen  from  an  Italian. 

She  and  Jimmie  lived. 

The  inexperienced  fibres  of  the  boy's  eyes 
were  hardened  at  an  early  age.  He  became  a 
young  man  of  leather.  He  lived  some  red 
years  without  labouring.  During  that  time 
his  sneer  became  chronic.  He  studied  human 
nature  in  the  gutter,  and  found  it  no  worse 
than  he  thought  he  had  reason  to  believe  it. 
He  never  conceived  a  respect  for  the  world, 
because  he  had  begun  with  no  idols  that  it 
had  smashed. 

He  clad  his  soul  in  armour  by  means  of 

happening  hilariously  in  at  a  mission  church 

28 


MAGGIE.  29 

where  a  man  composed  his  sermons  of 
"  yous."  Once  a  philosopher  asked  this  man 
why  he  did  not  say  "  we  "  instead  of  "  you." 
The  man  replied,  "What?" 

While  they  got  warm  at  the  stove  he  told 
his  hearers  just  where  he  calculated  they  stood 
with  the  Lord.  Many  of  the  sinners  were  im 
patient  over  the  pictured  depths  of  their  deg 
radation.  They  were  waiting  for  soup  tickets. 

A  reader  of  the  words  of  wind  demons 
might  have  been  able  to  see  the  portions  of 
a  dialogue  pass  to  and  fro  between  the  ex- 
horter  and  his  hearers. 

"You  are  damned,"  said  the  preacher. 
And  the  reader  of  sounds  might  have  seen 
the  reply  go  forth  from  the  ragged  people : 
"  Where's  our  soup  ?  " 

Jimmie  and  a  companion  sat  in  a  rear  seat 
and  commented  upon  the  things  that  didn't 
concern  them,  with  all  the  freedom  of  Eng 
lish  tourists.  When  they  grew  thirsty  and  * 
went  out,  their  minds  confused  the  speaker 
with  Christ. 


30  MAGGIE. 

Momentarily,  Jimmie  was  sullen  with 
thoughts  of  a  hopeless  altitude  where  grew 
fruit.  His  companion  said  that  if  he  should 
ever  go  to  heaven  he  would  ask  for  a  million 
dollars  and  a  bottle  of  beer. 

Jimmie's  occupation  for  a  long  time  was 
to  stand  on  street  corners  and  watch  the 
world  go  by,  dreaming  blood-red  dreams  at 
the  passing  of  pretty  women.  He  menaced 
mankind  at  the  intersections  of  streets. 

On  the  corners  he  was  in  life  and  of  life. 
The  world  was  going  on  and  he  was  there 
to  perceive  it. 

He  maintained  a  belligerent  attitude  to 
ward  all  well-dressed  men.  To  him  fine 
raiment  was  allied  to  weakness,  and  all  good 
coats  covered  faint  hearts.  He  and  his  order 
were  kings,  to  a  certain  extent,  over  the  men 
of  untarnished  clothes,  because  these  latter 
dreaded,  perhaps,  to  be  either  killed  or 
laughed  at. 

Above  all  things  he  despised  obvious 
Christians  and  ciphers  with  the  chrysanthe- 


MAGGIE.  3! 

mums  of  aristocracy  in  their  buttonholes. 
He  considered  himself  above  both  of  these 
classes.  He  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

When  he  had  a  dollar  in  his  pocket  his 
satisfaction  with  existence  was  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world.  So,  eventually,  he  felt 
obliged  to  work.  His  father  died  and  his 
mother's  years  were  divided  up  into  periods 
of  thirty  days. 

He  became  a  truck  driver.  There  was 
given  to  him  the  charge  of  a  painstaking  pair 
of  horses  and  a  large  rattling  truck.  He  in 
vaded  the  turmoil  and  tumble  of  the  down 
town  streets,  and  learned  to  breathe  maledic 
tory  defiance  at  the  police,  who  occasionally 
used  to  climb  up,  drag  him  from  his  perch, 
and  punch  him. 

In  the  lower  part  of  the  city  he  daily  in 
volved  himself  in  hideous  tangles.  If  he  and 
his  team  chanced  to  be  in  the  rear  he  pre 
served  a  demeanour  of  serenity,  crossing  his 
legs  and  bursting  forth  into  yells  when  foot 
passengers  took  dangerous  dives  beneath  the 


32  MAGGIE. 

noses  of  his  champing  horses.  He  smoked 
his  pipe  calmly,  for  he  knew  that  his  pay  was 
marching  on. 

If  his  charge  was  in  the  front  and  if  it  be 
came  the  key-truck  of  chaos,  he  entered 
terrifically  into  the  quarrel  that  was  raging 
to  and  fro  among  the  drivers  on  their  high 
seats,  and  sometimes  roared  oaths  and  vio 
lently  got  himself  arrested. 

After  a  time  his  sneer  grew  so  that  it 
turned  its  glare  upon  all  things.  He  became 
so  sharp  that  he  believed  in  nothing.  To  him 
the  police  were  always  actuated  by  malignant 
impulses,  and  the  rest  of  the  world  was  com 
posed,  for  the  most  part,  of  despicable  crea 
tures  who  were  all  trying  to  take  advantage 
of  him,  and  with  whom,  in  defence,  he  was 
obliged  to  quarrel  on  all  possible  occasions. 
He  himself  occupied  a  down-trodden  position, 
which  had  a  private  but  distinct  element  of 
grandeur  in  its  isolation. 

The  greatest  cases  of  aggravated  idiocy 
were,  to  his  mind,  rampant  upon  the  front 


MAGGIE.  33 

platforms  of  all  of  the  street  cars.  At  first 
his  tongue  strove  with  these  beings,  but 
he  eventually  became  superior.  In  him 
grew  a  majestic  contempt  for  those  strings 
of  street  cars  that  followed  him  like  intent 
bugs. 

He  fell  into  the  habit,  when  starting  on  a 
long  journey,  of  fixing  his  eye  on  a  high  and 
distant  object,  commanding  his  horses  to  start 
and  then  going  into  a  trance  of  observation. 
Multitudes  of  drivers  might  howl  in  his  rear, 
and  passengers  might  load  him  with  oppro 
brium,  but  he  would  not  awaken  until  some 
blue  policeman  turned  red  and  began  fren- 
ziedly  to  seize  bridles  and  beat  the  soft  noses 
of  the  responsible  horses. 

When  he  paused  to  contemplate  the  atti 
tude  of  the  police  toward  himself  and  his 
fellows,  he  believed  that  they  were  the  only 
men  in  the  city  who  had  no  rights.  When 
driving  about,  he  felt  that  he  was  held  liable 
by  the  police  for  anything  that  might  occur 
in  the  streets,  and  that  he  was  the  common 


34  MAGGIE. 

prey  of  all  energetic  officials.  In  revenge,  he 
resolved  never  to  move  out  of  the  way  of 
anything,  until  formidable  circumstances  or 
a  much  larger  man  than  himself  forced  him 
to  it. 

Foot  passengers  were  mere  pestering  flies 
with  an  insane  disregard  for  their  legs  and 
his  convenience.  He  could  not  comprehend 
their  desire  to  cross  the  streets.  Their 
madness  smote  him  with  eternal  amazement. 
He  was  continually  storming  at  them  from 
his  throne.  He  sat  aloft  and  denounced 
their  frantic  leaps,  plunges,  dives,  and  strad 
dles. 

When  they  would  thrust  at,  or  parry,  the 
noses  of  his  champing  horses,  making  them 
swing  their  heads  and  move  their  feet,  and 
thus  disturbing  a  stolid,  dreamy  repose,  he 
swore  at  the  men  as  fools,  for  he  himself 
could  perceive  that  Providence  had  caused 
it  clearly  to  be  written  that  he  and  his  team 
had  the  unalienable  right  to  stand  in  the 
proper  path  of  the  sun  chariot,  and  if  they 


MAGGIE.  35 

so  minded,  to  obstruct  its  mission  or  take  a 
wheel  off. 

And  if  the  god  driver  had  had  a  desire  to 
step  down,  put  up  his  flame-coloured  fists, 
and  manfully  dispute  the  right  of  way,  he  * 
would  have  probably  been  immediately  op 
posed  by  a  scowling  mortal  with  two  sets  of 
hard  knuckles. 

It  is  possible,  perhaps,  that  this  young 
man  would  have  derided,  in  an  axle-wide 
alley,  the  approach  of  a  flying  ferry  boat. 
Yet  he  achieved  a  respect  for  a  fire  engine. 
As  one  charged  toward  his  truck,  he  would 
drive  fearfully  upon  a  sidewalk,  threatening 
untold  people  with  annihilation.  When  an 
engine  struck  a  mass  of  blocked  trucks,  split 
ting  it  into  fragments,  as  a  blow  annihilates 
a  cake  of  ice,  Jimmie's  team  could  usually  be 
observed  high  and  safe,  with  whole  wheels, 
on  the  sidewalk.  The  fearful  coming  of  the 
engine  could  break  up  the  most  intricate 
muddle  of  heavy  vehicles  at  which  the  police 
had  been  storming  for  half  an  hour. 


36  MAGGIE. 

A  fire  engine  was  enshrined  in  his  heart 
as  an  appalling  thing  that  he  loved  with  a 
distant,  doglike  devotion.  It  had  been  known 
to  overturn  a  street  car.  Those  leaping 
horses,  striking  sparks  from  the  cobbles  in 
their  forward  lunge,  were  creatures  to  be 
ineffably  admired.  The  clang  of  the  gong 
pierced  his  breast  like  a  noise  of  remem 
bered  war. 

When  Jimmie  was  a  little  boy,  he  began  to 
be  arrested.  Before  he  reached  a  great  age, 
he  had  a  fair  record. 

He  developed  too  great  a  tendency  to 
climb  down  from  his  truck  and  fight  with 
other  drivers.  He  had  been  in  quite  a  num 
ber  of  miscellaneous  fights,  and  in  some 
general  barroom  rows  that  had  become 
known  to  the  police.  Once  he  had  been 
arrested  for  assaulting  a  Chinaman.  Two 
women  in  different  parts  of  the  city,  and 
entirely  unknown  to  each  other,  caused  him 
considerable  annoyance  by  breaking  forth, 
simultaneously,  at  fateful  intervals,  into  wail- 


MAGGIE.  37 

ings    about    marriage    and    support    and   in 
fants. 

Nevertheless,  he  had,  on  a  certain  star 
lit  evening,  said  wonderingly  and  quite 
reverently :  "  Deh  moon  looks  like  h — 1, 
don't  it?" 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  girl,  Maggie,  blossomed  in  a  mud 
puddle.  She  grew  to  be  a  most  rare  and 
wonderful  production  of  a  tenement  district,  a 
pretty  girl. 

None  of  the  dirt  of  Rum  Alley  seemed  to 
be  in  her  veins.  The  philosophers,  upstairs, 
downstairs,  and  on  the  same  floor,  puzzled 
over  it. 

When  a  child,  playing  and  fighting  with 
gamins  in  the  street,  dirt  disguised  her.  At 
tired  in  tatters  and  grime,  she  went  unseen. 

There  came  a  time,  however,  when  the 
young  men  of  the  vicinity  said,  "  Dat  John 
son  goil  is  a  puty  good  looker."  About  this 
period  her  brother  remarked  to  her :  "  Mag, 
I'll  tell  yeh  dis!  See?  Yeh've  edder  got  t' 

go  on  df  toif  er  go  t'  work ! "     Whereupon 
38 


MAGGIE.  39 

she  went  to  work,  having  the  feminine  aver 
sion  to  the  alternative. 

By  a  chance,  she  got  a  position  in  an  estab 
lishment  where  they  made  collars  and  cuffs. 
She  received  a  stool  and  a  machine  in  a  room 
where  sat  twenty  girls  of  various  shades  of 
yellow  discontent.  She  perched  on  the  stool 
and  treadled  at  her  machine  all  day,  turning 
out  collars  with  a  name  which  might  have 
been  noted  for  its  irrelevancy  to  anything 
connected  with  collars.  At  night  she  re 
turned  home  to  her  mother. 

Jimmie  grew  large  enough  to  take  the 
vague  position  of  head  of  the  family.  As  in 
cumbent  of  that  office,  he  stumbled  upstairs 
late  at  night,  as  his  father  had  done  before 
him.  He  reeled  about  the  room,  swearing  at 
his  relations,  or  went  to  sleep  on  the  floor. 

The  mother  had  gradually  arisen  to  such  a 
degree  of  fame  that  she  could  bandy  words 
with  her  acquaintances  among  the  police  jus 
tices.  Court  officials  called  her  by  her  first 
name.  When  she  appeared  they  pursued  a 


40  MAGGIE. 

course  which  had  been  theirs  for  months. 
They  invariably  grinned,  and  cried  out, 
"  Hello,  Mary,  you  here  again  ?  "  Her  gray 
head  wagged  in  many  courts.  She  always  be 
sieged  the  bench  with  voluble  excuses,  ex 
planations,  apologies,  and  prayers.  Her  flam 
ing  face  and  rolling  eyes  were  a  familiar  sight 
on  the  island.  She  measured  time  by  means 
of  sprees,  and  was  eternally  swollen  and  di 
shevelled. 

One  day  the  young  man  Pete,  who  as  a 
lad  had  smitten  the  Devil's  Row  urchin  in  the 
back  of  the  head  and  put  to  flight  the  antag 
onists  of  his  friend  Jimmie,  strutted  upon  the 
scene.  He  met  Jimmie  one  day  on  the  street, 
promised  to  take  him  to  a  boxing  match  in 
Williamsburg,  and  called  for  him  in  the 
evening. 

Maggie  observed  Pete. 

He  sat  on  a  table  in  the  Johnson  home,  and 
dangled  his  checked  legs  with  an  enticing 
nonchalance.  His  hair  was  curled  down  over 
his  forehead  in  an  oiled  bang.  His  pugged 


MAGGIE.  4I 

nose  seemed  to  revolt  from  contact  with  a 
bristling  mustache  of  short,  wirelike  hairs. 
His  blue  double-breasted  coat,  edged  with 
black  braid,  was  buttoned  close  to  a  red  puff 
tie,  and  his  patent  leather  shoes  looked  like 
weapons. 

His  mannerisms  stamped  him  as  a  man 
who  had  a  correct  sense  of  his  personal  supe 
riority.  There  was  valour  and  contempt  for 
circumstances  in  the  glance  of  his  eye.  He 
waved  his  hands  like  a  man  of  the  world  who 
dismisses  religion  and  philosophy,  and  says 
"  Rats  !  "  He  had  certainly  seen  everything, 
and  with  each  curl  of  his  lip  he  declared  that 
it  amounted  to  nothing.  Maggie  thought  he 
must  be  a  very  "  elegant "  bartender. 

He  was  telling  tales  to  Jimmie. 

Maggie  watched  him  furtively,  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  lit  with  a  vague  interest. 

"  Hully  gee !  Dey  makes  me  tired,"  he 
said.  "  Mos'  e'ry  day  some  farmer  comes  in 
an'  tries  t'  run  d'  shop.  See?  But  d'  gits 
t'rowed  right  out.  I  jolt  dem  right  out  in 


42  MAGGIE. 

d'  street  before  dey  knows  where  dey  is. 
See?" 

"  Sure,"  said  Jimmie. 

"  Dere  was  a  mug  come  in  d'  place  d' 
odder  day  wid  an  idear  he  wus  goin'  t'  own 
d'  place.  Hully  gee  !  he  wus  goin'  t'  own  d' 
place.  I  see  he  had  a  still  on,  an'  I  didn' 
wanna  giv  'im  no  stuff,  so  I  says,  '  Git  outa 
here  an'  don'  make  no  trouble,'  I  says  like 
dat.  See?  '  Git  outa  here  an' don' make  no 
trouble ; '  like  dat.  '  Git  outa  here,'  I  says. 
See?" 

Jimmie  nodded  understandingly.  Over 
his  features  played  an  eager  desire  to  state  the 
amount  of  his  valour  in  a  similar  crisis,  but 
the  narrator  proceeded. 

"Well,  deh  blokie  he  says:  '  T'  blazes 
wid  it !  I  ain'  lookin'  for  no  scrap,'  he  says 
— see  ?  '  but,'  he  says, '  I'm  'spectable  cit'zen  an' 
I  wanna  drink,  an'  quick,  too.'  See?  '  Aw, 
goahn!'  I  says,  like  dat.  'Aw,  goahn,'  I 
says.  See  ?  *  Don'  make  no  trouble,'  I  says, 
like  dat.  'Don'  make  no  trouble.'  See? 


MAGGIE. 


43 


Den  d'  mug  he  squared  off  an*  said  he  was 
fine  as  silk  wid  his  dukes — see  ?  an'  he  wanned 
a  drink — quick.  Dat's  what  he  said.  See  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  repeated  Jimmie. 

Pete  continued.  "Say,  I  jes'  jumped  d' 
bar,  an'  d'  way  I  plunked  dat  blokie  was  outa 
sight.  See?  Dat's  right!  In  d' jaw !  See? 
Hully  gee !  he  t'rowed  a  spittoon  true  d'  front 
windee.  Say,  I  taut  I'd  drop  dead.  But  d' 
boss,  he  comes  in  after,  an'  he  says :  *  Pete, 
yens  done  jes'  right !  Yeh've  gota  keep  order, 
an'  it's  all  right.'  See  ?  <  It's  all  right,'  he 
says.  Dat's  what  he  said." 

The  two  held  a  technical  discussion. 

"  Dat  bloke  was  a  dandy,"  said  Pete,  in 
conclusion,  "  but  he  hadn'  oughta  made  no 
trouble.  Dat's  what  I  says  t'  dem :  '  Don' 
come  in  here  an*  make  no  trouble,'  I  says,  like 
dat.  'Don'  make  no  trouble.'  See?" 

As  Jimmie  and  his  friend  exchanged  tales 
descriptive  of  their  prowess,  Maggie  leaned 
back  in  the  shadow.  Her  eyes  dwelt  wonder- 
ingly  and  rather  wistfully  upon  Pete's  face. 

4 


44  MAGGIE. 

The  broken  furniture,  grimy  walls,  and  gen 
eral  disorder  and  dirt  of  her  home  of  a  sudden 
appeared  before  her  and  began  to  take  a  po 
tential  aspect.  Pete's  aristocratic  person 
looked  as  if  it  might  soil.  She  looked  keenly 
at  him,  occasionally  wondering  if  he  was 
feeling  contempt.  But  Pete  seemed  to  be 
enveloped  in  reminiscence. 

"  Hully  gee  !  "  said  he,  "  dose  mugs  can't 
phase  me.  Dey  knows  I  kin  wipe  up  d'  street 
wid  any  tree  of  dem." 

When  he  said,  "Ah,  what  d'  h— 1 ! "  his 
voice  was  burdened  with  disdain  for  the  inevi 
table  and  contempt  for  anything  that  fate 
might  compel  him  to  endure. 

Maggie  perceived  that  here  was  the  ideal 
man.  Her  dim  thoughts  were  often  searching 
for  far  away  lands  where  the  little  hills  sing 
together  in  the  morning.  Under  the  trees  of 
her  dream-gardens  there  had  always  walked  a 
lover. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PETE  took  note  of  Maggie. 

"Say,  Mag,  I'm  stuck  on  yer  shape.  It's 
outa  sight,"  he  said,  parenthetically,  with  an 
affable  grin. 

As  he  became  aware  that  she  was  listen 
ing  closely,  he  grew  still  more  eloquent  in 
his  descriptions  of  various  happenings  in  his 
career.  It  appeared  that  he  was  invincible  in 
fights. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  referring  to  a  man  with 
whom  he  had  had  a  misunderstanding,  "  dat 
mug  scrapped  like  a  dago.  Dat's  right.  He 
was  dead  easy.  See?  He  tau't  he  was  a 
scrapper.  But  he  foun'  out  diff ent.  Hully 
gee!" 

He  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  small  room, 

which    seemed    then   to   grow   even   smaller 
45 


46  MAGGIE, 

and  unfit  to  hold  his  dignity,  the  attribute 
of  a  supreme  warrior.  That  swing  of  the 
shoulders  which  had  frozen  the  timid  when  he 
was  but  a  lad  had  increased  with  his  growth 
and  education  in  the  ratio  of  ten  to  one.  It, 
combihed  with  the  sneer  upon  his  mouth,  told 
mankind  that  there  was  nothing  in  space 
which  could  appall  him.  Maggie  marvelled 
at  him  and  surrounded  him  with  greatness. 
She  vaguely  tried  to  calculate  the  altitude 
of  the  pinnacle  from  which  he  must  have 
looked  down  upon  her. 

"  I  met  a  chump  deh  odder  day  way  up  in 
deh  city,"  he  said.  "  I  was  goin'  teh  see  a 
frien'  of  mine.  When  I  was  a-crossin'  deh 
street  deh  chump  runned  plump  inteh  me, 
an*  den  he  turns  aroun'  an'  says,  '  Yer  insolen* 
ruffin  ! '  he  says,  like  dat.  '  Oh,  gee  ! '  I  says, 
'  oh,  gee  !  git  off  d'  eart' ! '  I  says,  like  dat. 
See  ?  '  Git  off  d'  eart' ! '  like  dat.  Den  deh 
blokie  he  got  wild.  He  says  I  was  a  con- 
tempt'ble  scoun'el,  er  somethin'  like  dat,  an' 
he  says  I  was  doom'  teh  everlastin'  pe'dition, 


MAGGIE.  47 

er  somethin'  like  dat.  '  Gee  ! '  I  says,  '  gee  ! 
Yer  joshin'  me,'  I  says.  '  Yer  joshin'  me.'  An* 
den  I  slugged  'im.  See?" 

With  Jimmie  in  his  company,  Pete  de 
parted  in  a  sort  of  a  blaze  of  glory  from  the 
Johnson  home.  Maggie,  leaning  from  the 
window,  watched  him  as  iie  walked  down  the 
street. 

Here  was  a  formidable  man  who  disdained 
the  strength  of  a  world  full  of  fists.  Here 
was  one  who  had  contempt  for  brass-clothed 
power;  one  whose  knuckles  could  ring  de 
fiantly  against  the  granite  of  law.  He  was  a 
knight. 

The  two  men  went  from  under  the  glim 
mering  street  lamp  and  passed  into  shadows. 

Turning,  Maggie  contemplated  the  dark, 
dust-stained  walls,  and  the  scant  and  crude 
furniture  of  her  home.  A  clock,  in  a  splin 
tered  and  battered  oblong  box  of  varnished 
wood,  she  suddenly  regarded  as  an  abomina 
tion.  She  noted  that  it  ticked  raspingly. 
The  almost  vanished  flowers  in  the  carpet 


48  MAGGIE. 

pattern,  she  conceived  to  be  newly  hideous. 
Some  faint  attempts  which  she  had  made  with 
blue  ribbon  to  freshen  the  appearance  of  a 
dingy  curtain,  she  now  saw  to  be  piteous. 

She  wondered  what  Pete  dined  on. 

She  reflected  upon  the  collar-and-cuff  fac 
tory.  It  began  to  appear  to  her  mind  as  a 
dreary  place  of  endless  grinding.  Pete's  ele 
gant  occupation  brought  him,  no  doubt,  into 
contact  with  people  who  had  money  and  man 
ners.  It  was  probable  that  he  had  a  large 
acquaintance  with  pretty  girls.  He  must 
have  great  sums  of  money  to  spend. 

To  her  the  earth  was  composed  of  hard 
ships  and  insults.  She  felt  instant  admiration 
for  a  man  who  openly  defied  it.  She  thought 
that  if  the  grim  angel  of  death  should  clutch 
his  heart,  Pete  would  shrug  his  shoulders  and 
say,  "  Oh,  ev'ryt'ing  goes." 

She  anticipated  that  he  would  come  again 
shortly.  She  spent  some  of  her  week's  pay 
in  the  purchase  of  flowered  cretonne  for  a 
lambrequin.  She  made  it  with  infinite  care, 


MAGGIE. 


49 


and  hung  it  to  the  slightly  careening  mantel 
over  the  stove  in  the  kitchen.  She  studied  it 
with  painful  anxiety  from  different  points  in 
the  room.  She  wanted  it  to  look  well  on 
Sunday  night  when,  perhaps,  Jimmie's  friend 
would  come.  On  Sunday  night,  however, 
Pete  did  not  appear. 

Afterward  the  girl  looked  at  it  with  a 
sense  of  humiliation.  She  was  now  con 
vinced  that  Pete  was  superior  to  admiration 
for  lambrequins. 

A  few  evenings  later  Pete  entered  with 
fascinating  innovations  in  his  apparel.  As  she 
had  seen  him  twice  and  he  wore  a  different 
suit  each  time,  Maggie  had  a  dim  impression 
that  his  wardrobe  was  prodigious. 

"  Say,  Mag,"  he  said,  "  put  on  yer  bes' 
duds  Friday  night  an'  I'll  take  yehs  t'  d* 
show.  See?" 

He  spent  a  few  moments  in  flourishing  his 
clothes,  and  then  vanished  without  having 
glanced  at  the  lambrequin. 

Over  the  eternal  collars  and  cuffs  in  the 


5Q  MAGGIE. 

factory  Maggie  spent  the  most  of  three  days 
in  making  imaginary  sketches  of  Pete  and  his 
daily  environment.  She  imagined  some  half 
dozen  women  in  love  with  him,  and  thought 
he  must  lean  dangerously  toward  an  indefi 
nite  one,  whom  she  pictured  as  endowed 
with  great  charms  of  person,  but  with  an  alto 
gether  contemptible  disposition. 

She  thought  he  must  live  in  a  blare  of 
pleasure.  He  had  friends  and  people  who 
were  afraid  of  him. 

She  saw  the  golden  glitter  of  the  place 
where  Pete  was  to  take  her.  It  would  be 
an  entertainment  of  many  hues  and  many 
melodies,  where  she  was  afraid  she  might  ap 
pear  small  and  mouse  coloured. 

Her  mother  drank  whisky  all  Friday 
morning.  With  lurid  face  and  tossing  hair 
she  cursed  and  destroyed  furniture  all  Friday 
afternoon.  When  Maggie  came  home  at  half- 
past  six  her  mother  lay  asleep  amid  the 
wreck  of  chairs  and  a  table.  Fragments  of 
various  household  utensils  were  scattered 


MAGGIE.  5 1 

about  the  floor.  She  had  vented  some  phase 
of  drunken  fury  upon  the  lambrequin.  It  lay 
in  a  bedraggled  heap  in  the  corner. 

*'  Hah  !  "  she  snorted,  sitting  up  suddenly, 
"where  yeh  been?  Why  don'  yeh  come 
home  earlier?  Been  loafin'  'round  d'  streets. 
Yer  gettin'  t'  be  a  reg'lar  devil." 

When  Pete  arrived  Maggie,  in  a  worn 
black  dress,  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  midst 
of  a  floor  strewn  with  wreckage.  The  curtain 
at  the  window  had  been  pulled  by  a  heavy 
hand  and  hung  by  one  tack,  dangling  to  and 
fro  in  the  draught  through  the  cracks  at  the 
sash.  The  knots  of  blue  ribbons  appeared 
like  violated  flowers.  The  fire  in  the  stove 
had  gone  out.  The  displaced  lids  and  open 
doors  showed  heaps  of  sullen  gray  ashes. 
The  remnants  of  a  meal,  ghastly,  lay  in  a  cor 
ner.  Maggie's  mother,  stretched  on  the  floor, 
blasphemed  and  gave  her  daughter  a  bad 
name. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AN  orchestra  of  yellow  silk  women  and 
bald-headed  men,  on  an  elevated  stage  near 
the  centre  of  a  great  green-hued  hall,  played 
a  popular  waltz.  The  place  was  crowded 
with  people  grouped  about  little  tables.  A 
battalion  of  waiters  slid  among  the  throng, 
carrying  trays  of  beer  glasses  and  making 
change  from  the  inexhaustible  vaults  of  their 
trousers  pockets.  Little  boys,  in  the  cos 
tumes  of  French  chefs,  paraded  up  and  down 
the  irregular  aisles  vending  fancy  cakes. 
There  was  a  low  rumble  of  conversation  and 
a  subdued  clinking  of  glasses.  Clouds  of  to 
bacco  smoke  rolled  and  wavered  high  in  air 
about  the  dull  gilt  of  the  chandeliers. 

The  vast  crowd  had  an  air  throughout  of 
having  just  quitted  labour.  Men  with  cal- 
52 


MAGGIE. 


53 


loused  hands,  and  attired  in  garments  that 
showed  the  wear  of  an  endless  drudging  for 
a  living,  smoked  their  pipes  contentedly  and 
spent  five,  ten,  or  perhaps  fifteen  cents  for 
beer.  There  was  a  mere  sprinkling  of  men 
who  smoked  cigars  purchased  elsewhere. 
The  great  body  of  the  crowd  was  composed 
of  people  who  showed  that  all  day  they  strove 
with  their  hands.  Quiet  Germans,  with  may 
be  their  wives  and  two  or  three  children,  sat 
listening  to  the  music,  with  the  expressions 
of  happy  cows.  An  occasional  party  of  sail 
ors  from  a  war  ship,  their  faces  pictures  of 
sturdy  health,  spent  the  earlier  hours  of  the 
evening  at  the  small  round  tables.  Very  in 
frequent  tipsy  men,  swollen  with  the  value 
of  their  opinions,  engaged  their  companions  in 
earnest  and  confidential  conversation.  In  the 
balcony,  and  here  and  there  below,  shone  the 
impassive  faces  of  women.  The  nationalities 
of  the  Bowery  beamed  upon  the  stage  from 
all  directions. 

Pete  walked    aggressively  up  a  side  aisle 


54  MAGGIE. 

and  took  seats  with  Maggie  at  a  table  be 
neath  the  balcony. 

"  Two  beehs  !  " 

Leaning  back,  he  regarded  with  eyes  of 
superiority  the  scene  before  them.  This  atti 
tude  affected  Maggie  strongly.  A  man  who 
-  could  regard  such  a  sight  with  indifference 
must  be  accustomed  to  very  great  things. 

It  was  obvious  that  Pete  had  visited  this 
place  many  times  before,  and  was  very  fami 
liar  with  it.  -A  knowledge  of  this  fact  made 
Maggie  feel  little  and  new. 

He  was  extremely  gracious  and  attentive. 
He  displayed  the  consideration  of  a  cultured 
gentleman  who  knew  what  was  due. 

"  Say,  what's  eatin'  yeh  ?  Bring  d'  lady 
a  big  glass !  What  use  is  dat  pony  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  fresh,  now,"  said  the  waiter, 
with  some  warmth,  as  he  departed. 

"  Ah,  git  off  d'  eart' ! "  said  Pete,  after  the 
other's  retreating  form, 

Maggie  perceived  that  Pete  brought  forth 
all  his  elegance  and  all  his  knowledge  of 


MAGGIE.  55 

high-class  customs  for  her  benefit.  Her  heart 
warmed  as  she  reflected  upon  his  condescen 
sion. 

The  orchestra  of  yellow  silk  women  and 
bald-headed  men  gave  vent  to  a  few  bars  of 
anticipatory  music,  and  a  girl,  in  a  pink  dress 
with  short  skirts,  galloped  upon  the  stage. 
She  smiled  upon  the  throng  as  if  in  acknowl 
edgment  of  a  warm  welcome,  and  began  to 
walk  to  and  fro,  making  profuse  gesticulations, 
and  singing,  in  brazen  soprano  tones,  a  song 
the  words  of  which  were  inaudible.  When 
she  broke  into  the  swift  rattling  measures  of 
a  chorus  some  half-tipsy  men  near  the  stage 
joined  in  the  rollicking  refrain,  and  glasses 
were  pounded  rhythmically  upon  the  tables. 
People  leaned  forward  to  watch  her  and  to 
try  to  catch  the  words  of  the  song.  When 
she  vanished  there  were  long  rollings  of  ap 
plause. 

Obedient  to  more  anticipatory  bars,  she 
reappeared  amid  the  half-suppressed  cheer 
ing  of  the  tipsy  men.  The  orchestra  plunged 


56  MAGGIE. 

into  dance  music,  and  the  laces  of  the  dancer 
fluttered  and  flew  in  the  glare  of  gas  jets. 
She  divulged  the  fact  that  she  was  attired  in 
some  half  dozen  skirts.  It  was  patent  that 
any  one  of  them  would  have  proved  ade 
quate  for  the  purpose  for  which  skirts  are  in 
tended.  An  occasional  man  bent  forward,  in 
tent  upon  the  pink  stockings.  Maggie  won 
dered  at  the  splendour  of  the  costume  and  lost 
herself  in  calculations  of  the  cost  of  the  silks 
and  laces. 

The  dancer's  smile  of  enthusiasm  was 
turned  for  ten  minutes  upon  the  faces  of  her 
audience.  In  the  finale  she  fell  into  some  of 
those  grotesque  attitudes  which  were  at  the 
time  popular  among  the  dancers  in  the  the 
atres  uptown,  giving  to  the  Bowery  public 
the  diversions  of  the  aristocratic  theatre-going 
public  at  reduced  rates. 

"  Say,  Pete,"  said  Maggie,  leaning  forward, 
"  dis  is  great." 

"Sure!"  said  Pete,  with  proper  compla 
cence. 


MAGGIE.  57 

A  ventriloquist  followed  the  dancer.  He 
held  two  fantastic  dolls  on  his  knees.  He 
made  them  sing  mournful  ditties  and  say 
funny  things  about  geography  and  Ireland. 

"  Do  dose  little  men  talk  ? "  asked  Mag 
gie. 

"  Naw,"  said  Pete,  "  it's  some  big  jolly. 
See?" 

Two  girls,  set  down  on  the  bills  as  sisters, 
came  forth  and  sang  a  duet  which  is  heard 
occasionally  at  concerts  given  under  church 
auspices.  They  supplemented  it  with  a  dance, 
which,  of  course,  can  never  be  seen  at  con 
certs  given  under  church  auspices. 

After  they  had  retired,  a  woman  of  debata 
ble  age  sang  a  negro  melody.  The  chorus 
necessitated  some  grotesque  waddlings  sup 
posed  to  be  an  imitation  of  a  plantation 
darky,  under  the  influence,  probably,  of  music 
and  the  moon.  The  audience  was  just  enthu 
siastic  enough  over  it  to  have  her  return  and 
sing  a  sorrowful  lay,  whose  lines  told  of  a 
mother's  love,  and  a  sweetheart  who  waited, 


58  MAGGIE. 

and  a  young  man  who  was  lost  at  sea  under 
harrowing  circumstances.  From  the  faces  of 
a  score  or  so  in  the  crowd  the  self-contained 
look  faded.  Many  heads  were  bent  forward 
with  eagerness  and  sympathy.  As  the  last 
distressing  sentiment  of  the  piece  was  brought 
forth,  it  was  greeted  by  the  kind  of  applause 
which  rings  as  sincere. 

As  a  final  effort,  the  singer  rendered  some 
verses  which  described  a  vision  of  Britain  an 
nihilated  by  America,  and  Ireland  bursting 
her  bonds.  A  carefully  prepared  climax  was 
reached  in  the  last  line  of  the  last  verse,  when 
the  singer  threw  out  her  arms  and  cried, 
"  The  star-spangled  banner."  Instantly  a 
great  cheer  swelled  from  the  throats  of  this 
assemblage  of  the  masses,  most  of  them  of 
foreign  birth.  There  was  a  heavy  rumble 
of  booted  feet  thumping  the  floor.  Eyes 
gleamed  with  sudden  fire,  and  calloused 
hands  waved  frantically  in  the  air. 

After  a  few  moments'  rest,  the  orchestra 
played  noisily,  and  a  small  fat  man  burst  out 


MAGGIE. 


59 


upon  the  stage.  He  began  to  roar  a  song  and 
to  stamp  back  and  forth  before  the  footlights, 
wildly  waving  a  silk  hat  and  throwing  leers 
broadcast.  He  made  his  face  into  fantastic 
grimaces  until  he  looked  like  a  devil  on  a  Jap 
anese  kite.  The  crowd  laughed  gleefully. 
His  short,  fat  legs  were  never  still  a  moment. 
He  shouted  and  roared  and  bobbed  his  shock 
of  red  wig  until  the  audience  broke  out  in  ex 
cited  applause. 

Pete  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  the 
progress  of  events  upon  the  stage.  He  was 
drinking  beer  and  watching  Maggie. 

Her  cheeks  were  blushing  with  excitement 
and  her  eyes  were  glistening.  She  drew  deep 
breaths  of  pleasure.  No  thoughts  of  the  at 
mosphere  of  the  collar-and-cuff  factory  came 
to  her. 

With  the  final  crash  of  the  orchestra  they 
jostled  their  way  to  the  sidewalk  in  the 
crowd.  Pete  took  Maggie's  arm  and  pushed 
a  way  for  her,  offering  to  fight  with  a  man  or 
two.  They  reached  Maggie's  home  at  a  late 


60  MAGGIE. 

hour  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  front  of  the 
gruesome  doorway. 

"  Say,  Mag,"  said  Pete,  "  give  us  a  kiss  for 
takin*  yeh  t'  d'  show,  will  yer  ?  " 

Maggie  laughed,  as  if  startled,  and  drew 
away  from  him. 

"  Naw,  Pete,"  she  said,  "dat  wasn't  in  it." 

"  Ah,  why  wasn't  it  ?  "  urged  Pete. 

The  girl  retreated  nervously. 

"  Ah,  go  ahn  !  "  repeated  he. 

Maggie  darted  into  the  hall,  and  up  the 
stairs.  She  turned  and  smiled  at  him,  then 
disappeared. 

Pete  walked  slowly  down  the  street.  He 
had  something  of  an  astonished  expression 
upon  his  features.  He  paused  under  a  lamp 
post  and  breathed  a  low  breath  of  surprise. 

"  Gee !  "  he  said,  "  I  wonner  if  I've  been 
played  fer  a  duffer." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

As  thoughts  of  Pete  came  to  Maggie's 
mind,  she  began  to  have  an  intense  dislike  for 
all  of  her  dresses. 

"  What  ails  yeh  ?  What  makes  ye  be  allus 
fixin'  and  fussin'?"  her  mother  would  fre 
quently  roar  at  her. 

She  began  to  note  with  more  interest  the 
well-dressed  women  she  met  on  the  avenues. 
She  envied  elegance  and  soft  palms.  She 
craved  those  adornments  of  person  which  she 
saw  every  day  on  the  street,  conceiving  them 
to  be  allies  of  vast  importance  to  women. 

Studying  faces,  she  thought  many  of  the 
women  and  girls  she  chanced  to  meet  smiled 
with  serenity  as  though  forever  cherished  and 
watched  over  by  those  they  loved. 

The  air  in  the  collar-and-cuff  establishment 

61 


62  MAGGIE. 

strangled  her.  She  knew  she  was  gradually 
and  surely  shrivelling  in  the  hot,  stuffy  room. 
The  begrimed  windows  rattled  incessantly 
from  the  passing  of  elevated  trains.  The 
place  was  filled  with  a  whirl  of  noises  and 
odours. 

She  became  lost  in  thought  as  she  looked 
at  some  of  the  grizzled  women  in  the  room, 
mere  mechanical  contrivances  sewing  seams 
and  grinding  out,  with  heads  bent  over  their 
work,  tales  of  imagined  or  real  girlhood  hap 
piness,  or  of  past  drunks,  or  the  baby  at  home, 
and  unpaid  wages.  She  wondered  how  long 
her  youth  would  endure.  She  began  to  see 
the  bloom  upon  her  cheeks  as  something  of 
value. 

She  imagined  herself,  in  an  exasperating 
future,  as  a  scrawny  woman  with  an  eternal 
grievance.  She  thought  Pete  to  be  a  very 
fastidious  person  concerning  the  appearance 
of  women. 

She  felt  that  she  should  love  to  see  some 
body  entangle  their  fingers  in  the  oily  beard 


MAGGIE.  63 

of  the  fat  foreigner  who  owned  the  establish 
ment.  He  was  a  detestable  creature.  He 
wore  white  socks  with  low  shoes.  He  sat  all 
day  delivering  orations  in  the  depths  of  a 
cushioned  chair.  His  pocketbook  deprived 
them  of  the  power  of  retort. 

"  What  do  you  sink  I  pie  fife  dolla  a  week 
for?  Play?  No,  py  tamn  !  " 

Maggie  was  anxious  for  a  friend  to  whom 
she  could  talk  about  Pete.  She  would  have 
liked  to  discuss  his  admirable  mannerisms  with 
a  reliable  mutual  friend.  At  home,  she  found 
her  mother  often  drunk  and  always  raving. 
It  seemed  that  the  world  had  treated  this 
woman  very  badly,  and  she  took  a  deep  re 
venge  upon  such  portions  of  it  as  came  within 
her  reach.  She  broke  furniture  as  if  she  were 
at  last  getting  her  rights.  She  swelled  with 
virtuous  indignation  as  she  carried  the  lighter 
articles  of  household  use,  one  by  one,  under 
the  shadows  of  the  three  gilt  balls,  where 
Hebrews  chained  them  with  chains  of  in 
terest. 


64  MAGGIE. 

Jimmie  came  when  he  was  obliged  to  by 
circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control. 
His  well-trained  legs  brought  him  stagger 
ing  home  and  put  him  to  bed  some  nights 
when  he  would  rather  have  gone  elsewhere. 

Swaggering  Pete  loomed  like  a  golden 
sun  to  Maggie.  He  took  her  to  a  dime 
museum  where  rows  of  meek  freaks  aston 
ished  her.  She  contemplated  their  deform 
ities  with  awe  and  thought  them  a  sort  of 
chosen  tribe. 

Pete,  racking  his  brains  for  amusement, 
discovered  the  Central  Park  Menagerie  and 
the  Museum  of  Arts.  Sunday  afternoons 
would  sometimes  find  them  at  these  places. 
Pete  did  not  appear  to  be  particularly  in 
terested  in  what  he  saw.  He  stood  around 
looking  heavy,  while  Maggie  giggled  in 
glee. 

Once  at  the  menagerie  he  went  into  a 
trance  of  admiration  before  the  spectacle  of 
a  very  small  monkey  threatening  to  thrash  a 
cageful  because  one  of  them  had  pulled  his 


MAGGIE.  65 

tail  and  he  had  not  wheeled  about  quickly 
enough  to  discover  who  did  it.  Ever  after 
Pete  knew  that  monkey  by  sight  and  winked 
at  him,  trying  to  induce  him  to  fight  with 
other  and  larger  monkeys. 

At  the  museum,  Maggie  said,  "  Dis  is  outa 
sight ! " 

"Aw,  rats!"  said  Pete;  "wait  till  next 
summer  an'  I'll  take  yehs  to  a  picnic." 

While  the  girl  wandered  in  the  vaulted 
rooms,  Pete  occupied  himself  in  returning 
stony  stare  for  stony  stare,  the  appalling 
scrutiny  of  the  watchdogs  of  the  treasures. 
Occasionally  he  would  remark  in  loud  tones, 
"  Dat  jay  has  got  glass  eyes,"  and  sentences  of 
the  sort.  When  he  tired  of  this  amusement 
he  would  go  to  the  mummies  and  moralize 
over  them. 

Usually  he  submitted  with  silent  dignity 
to  all  that  he  had  to  go  through,  but  at  times 
he  was  goaded  into  comment. 

"Aw!"  he  demanded  once.  "Look  at  all 
dese  little  jugs !  Hundred  jugs  in  a  row ! 


66  MAGGIE. 

Ten  rows  in  a  case,  an'  'bout  a  t'ousand 
cases !  What  d'  blazes  use  is  dem  ?  " 

In  the  evenings  of  week  days  he  often 
took  her  to  see  plays  in  which  the  dazzling 
heroine  was  rescued  from  the  palatial  home 
of  her  treacherous  guardian  by  the  hero  with 
the  beautiful  sentiments.  The  latter  spent 
most  of  his  time  out  at  soak  in  pale-green 
snow  storms,  busy  with  a  nickel-plated  re 
volver  rescuing  aged  strangers  from  vil 
lains. 

Maggie  lost  herself  in  sympathy  with  the 
wanderers  swooning  in  snow  storms  beneath 
happy-hued  church  windows,  while  a  choir 
within  sang  "  Joy  to  the  World."  To  Maggie 
and  the  rest  of  the  audience  this  was  tran 
scendental  realism.  Joy  always  within,  and 
they,  like  the  actor,  inevitably  without. 
Viewing  it,  they  hugged  themselves  in 
ecstatic  pity  of  their  imagined  or  real  con 
dition. 

The  girl  thought  the  arrogance  and  gran- 
ite-heartedness  of  the  magnate  of  the  play 


MAGGIE.  67 

were  very  accurately  drawn.  She  echoed 
the  maledictions  that  the  occupants  of  the 
gallery  showered  on  this  individual  when  his 
lines  compelled  him  to  expose  his  extreme 
selfishness. 

Shady  persons  in  the  audience  revolted 
from  the  pictured  villainy  of  the  drama. 
With  untiring  zeal  they  hissed  vice  and  ap 
plauded  virtue.  Unmistakably  bad  men 
evinced  an  apparently  sincere  admiration 
for  virtue.  The  loud  gallery  was  over 
whelmingly  with  the  unfortunate  and  the  op 
pressed.  They  encouraged  the  struggling 
hero  with  cries,  and  jeered  the  villain,  hoot 
ing  and  calling  attention  to  his  whiskers. 
When  anybody  died  in  the  pale-green  snow 
storms,  the  gallery  mourned.  They  sought 
out  the  painted  misery  and  hugged  it  as 
akin. 

In  the  hero's  erratic  march  from  poverty 
in  the  first  act,  to  wealth  and  triumph  in  the 
final  one,  in  which  he  forgives  all  the  enemies 
that  he  has  left,  he  was  assisted  by  the  gallery, 


68  MAGGIE. 

which  applauded  his  generous  and  noble  senti 
ments  and  confounded  the  speeches  of  his  op 
ponents  by  making  irrelevant  but  very  sharp 
remarks.  Those  actors  who  were  cursed 
with  the  parts  of  villains  were  confronted  at 
every  turn  by  the  gallery.  If  one  of  them 
rendered  lines  containing  the  most  subtile 
distinctions  between  right  and  wrong,  the  gal 
lery  was  immediately  aware  that  the  actor 
meant  wickedness,  and  denounced  him  ac 
cordingly. 

The  last  act  was  a  triumph  for  the  hero, 
poor  and  of  the  masses,  the  representative  of 
the  audience,  over  the  villain  and  the  rich 
man,  his  pockets  stuffed  with  bonds,  his  heart 
packed  with  tyrannical  purposes,  imperturb 
able  amid  suffering. 

Maggie  always  departed  with  raised  spirits 
from  these  melodramas.  She  rejoiced  at  the 
way  in  which  the  poor  and  virtuous  eventu 
ally  overcame  the  wealthy  and  wicked.  The 
theatre  made  her  think.  She  wondered  if  the 
culture  and  refinement  she  had  seen  imitated, 


MAGGIE.  69 

perhaps  grotesquely,  by  the  heroine  on  the 
stage,  could  be  acquired  by  a  girl  who  lived 
in  a  tenement  house  and  worked  in  a  shirt 
factory. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A  GROUP  of  urchins  were  intent  upon  the 
side  door  of  a  saloon.  Expectancy  gleamed 
from  their  eyes.  They  were  twisting  their 
fingers  in  excitement. 

"  Here  she  comes  !  "  yelled  one  of  them 
suddenly. 

The  group  of  urchins  burst  instantly  asun 
der  and  its  individual  fragments  were  spread 
in  a  wide,  respectable  half  circle  about  the 
point  of  interest.  The  saloon  door  opened 
with  a  crash,  and  the  figure  of  a  woman  ap 
peared  upon  the  threshold.  Her  gray  hair 
fell  in  knotted  masses  about  her  shoulders. 
Her  face  was  crimsoned  and  wet  with  per 
spiration.  Her  eyes  had  a  rolling  glare. 

'*  Not  a  cent  more  of  me  money  will  yehs 

ever  get — not  a  red  !     I  spent  me  money  here 
70 


MAGGIE.  ji 

fer  free  years,  an'  now  yehs  tells  me  yeh'll  sell 
me  no  more  stuff  !  Go  fall  on  yerself,  John 
nie  Murckre  !  '  Disturbance  ?  '  Disturbance 
be  blowed !  Go  fall  on  yerself,  John- 
nie ' 

The  door  received  a  kick  of  exasperation 
from  within,  and  the  woman  lurched  heavily 
out  on  the  sidewalk. 

The  gamins  in  the  half  circle  became  vio 
lently  agitated.  They  began  to  dance  about 
and  hoot  and  yell  and  jeer.  A  wide  dirty 
grin  spread  over  each  face. 

The  woman  made  a  furious  dash  at  a  par 
ticularly  outrageous  cluster  of  little  boys. 
They  laughed  delightedly,  and  scampered  off 
a  short  distance,  calling  out  to  her  over  their 
shoulders.  She  stood  tottering  on  the  curb 
stone  and  thundered  at  them. 

<fYeh  devil's  kids!"  she  howled,  shaking 
her  fists.  The  little  boys  whooped  in  glee. 
As  she  started  up  the  street  they  fell  in  be 
hind  and  marched  uproariously.  Occasion 
ally  she  wheeled  about  and  made  charges  on 


72  MAGGIE. 

them.  They  ran  nimbly  out  of  reach  and 
taunted  her. 

In  the  frame  of  a  gruesome  doorway  she 
stood  for  a  moment  cursing  them.  Her  hair 
straggled,  giving  her  red  features  a  look  of  in 
sanity.  Her  great  fists  quivered  as  she  shook 
them  madly  in  the  air. 

The  urchins  made  terrific  noises  until  she 
turned  and  disappeared.  Then  they  filed  off 
quietly  in  the  way  they  had  come. 

The  woman  floundered  about  in  the  lower 
hall  of  the  tenement  house,  and  finally  stum 
bled  up  the  stairs.  On  an  upper  hall  a  door 
was  opened  and  a  collection  of  heads  peered 
curiously  out,  watching  her.  With  a  wrath 
ful  snort  the  woman  confronted  the  door,  but 
it  was  slammed  hastily  in  her  face  and  the  key 
was  turned. 

She  stood  for  a  few  minutes,  delivering  a 
frenzied  challenge  at  the  panels. 

"  Come  out  in  deh  hall,  Mary  Murphy,  if 
yehs  want  a  scrap  !  Come  ahn  !  yeh  over 
grown  terrier,  come  ahn  !  " 


MAGGIE.  j2 

She  began  to  kick  the  door.  She  shrilly 
defied  the  universe  to  appear  and  do  battle. 
Her  cursing  trebles  brought  heads  from  all 
doors  save  the  one  she  threatened.  Her  eyes 
glared  in  every  direction.  The  air  was  full  of 
her  tossing  fists. 

"  Come  ahn !  deh  hull  gang  of  yehs,  come 
ahn !  "  she  roared  at  the  spectators.  An  oath 
or  two,  catcalls,  jeers,  and  bits  of  facetious  ad 
vice  were  given  in  reply.  Missiles  clattered 
about  her  feet. 

"  What's  wrong  wi'  che  ?  "  said  a  voice  in 
the  gathered  gloom,  and  Jimmie  came  for 
ward.  He  carried  a  tin  dinner  pail  in  his 
hand  and  under  his  arm  a  truckman's  brown 
apron  done  in  a  bundle.  "  What's  wrong  ?  " 
he  demanded. 

"  Come  out !  all  of  yehs,  come  out,"  his 
mother  was  howling.  "  Come  ahn  an'  I'll 
stamp  yer  faces  tru  d'  floor." 

"  Shet  yer  face,  an'  come  home,  yeh  old 
fool !  "  roared  Jimmie  at  her.  She  strode  up 
to  him  and  twirled  her  fingers  in  his  face. 


74  MAGGIE. 

Her  eyes  were  darting  flames  of  unreasoning 
rage  and  her  frame  trembled  with  eagerness 
for  a  fight. 

"  An'  who  are  youse?  I  ain't  givin'  a 
snap  of  me  fingers  fer  youse !  "  she  bawled  at 
him.  She  turned  her  huge  back  in  tremen 
dous  disdain  and  climbed  the  stairs  to  the 
next  floor. 

Jimmie  followed,  and  at  the  top  of  the 
flight  he  seized  his  mother's  arm  and  started 
to  drag  her  toward  the  door  of  their  room. 

"  Come  home  !  "  he  gritted  between  his 
teeth. 

"  Take  yer  hands  off  me  !  Take  yer  hands 
off  me  !  "  shrieked  his  mother. 

She  raised  her  arm  and  whirled  her  great 
fist  at  her  son's  face.  Jimmie  dodged  his  head 
and  the  blow  struck  him  in  the  back  of  the 
neck.  "  Come  home  ! "  he  gritted  again.  He 
threw  out  his  left  hand  and  writhed  his 
fingers  about  her  middle  arm.  The  mother 
and  the  son  began  to  sway  and  struggle  like 
gladiators. 


MAGGIE. 


75 


"  Whoop  !  "  said  the  Rum  Alley  tenement 
house.  The  hall  filled  with  interested  spec 
tators. 

"  Hi,  ol*  lady,  dat  was  a  dandy  ! " 

"  Tree  t'  one  on  d'  red  ! " 

"  Ah,  quit  yer  scrappin'  !  " 

The  door  of  the  Johnson  home  opened  and 
Maggie  looked  out.  Jimmie  made  a  supreme 
cursing  effort  and  hurled  his  mother  into  the 
room.  He  quickly  followed  and  closed  the 
door.  The  Rum  Alley  tenement  swore  disap 
pointedly  and  retired. 

The  mother  slowly  gathered  herself  up 
from  the  floor.  Her  eyes  glittered  menac 
ingly  upon  her  children. 

"  Here  now,"  said  Jimmie,  "  we've  had 
enough  of  dis.  Sit  down,  an*  don'  make  no 
trouble." 

He  grasped  her  arm,  and  twisting  it, 
forced  her  into  a  creaking  chair. 

"  Keep  yer  hands  off  me ! "  roared  his 
mother  again. 

"  Say,  yeh  ol'  bat !     Quit  dat !  "  yelled  Jim- 

6 


76  MAGGIE. 

mie,  madly.  Maggie  shrieked  and  ran  into 
the  other  room.  To  her  there  came  the  sound 
of  a  storm  of  crashes  and  curses.  There  was 
a  great  final  thump  and  Jimmie's  voice  cried  : 
"  Dere,  now  !  Stay  still."  Maggie  opened 
the  door  now,  and  went  warily  out.  4<  Oh, 
Jimmie  !  " 

He  was  leaning  against  the  wall  and 
swearing.  Blood  stood  upon  bruises  on  his 
knotty  forearms  where  they  had  scraped 
against  the  floor  or  the  walls  in  the  scuffle. 
The  mother  lay  screeching  on  the  floor,  the 
tears  running  down  her  furrowed  face. 

Maggie,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  gazed  about  her.  The  usual  upheaval 
of  the  tables  and  chairs  had  taken  place. 
Crockery  was  strewn  broadcast  in  fragments. 
The  stove  had  been  disturbed  on  its  legs,  and 
now  leaned  idiotically  to  one  side.  A  pail  had 
been  upset  and  water  spread  in  all  directions. 

The  door  opened  and  Pete  appeared.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Oh,  gee  !  "  he  ob 
served. 


MAGGIE. 


77 


He  walked  over  to  Maggie  and  whispered 
in  her  ear  :  "  Ah,  what  d'  h — 1,  Mag?  Come 
ahn  and  we'll  have  a  out-a-sight  time." 

The  mother  in  the  corner  upreared  her 
head  and  shook  her  tangled  locks. 

"  Aw,  yer  bote  no  good,  needer  of  yehs," 
she  said,  glowering  at  her  daughter  in  the 
gloom.  Her  eyes  seemed  to  burn  balefully. 
u  Yeh've  gone  t'  d'  devil,  Mag  Johnson,  yehs 
knows  yehs  have  gone  t'  d'  devil.  Yer  a  dis 
grace  t'  yer  people.  An'  now,  git  out  an'  go 
ahn  wid  dat  doe-faced  jude  of  yours.  Go  wid 
him,  curse  yeh,  an'  a  good  riddance.  Go,  an' 
see  how  yeh  likes  it." 

Maggie  gazed  long  at  her  mother. 

"  Go  now,  an'  see  how  yeh  likes  it.  Git 
out.  I  won't  have  sech  as  youse  in  me  house ! 
Git  out,  d'yeh  hear!  D — n  yeh,  git  out!" 

The  girl  began  to  tremble. 

At  this  instant  Pete  came  forward.  "  Oh, 
what  d'  h — 1,  Mag,  see,"  whispered  he  softly 
in  her  ear.  "  Dis  all  blows  over.  See  ?  D' 
oF  woman  'ill  be  all  right  in  d'  mornin'. 


78  MAGGIE. 

Come  ahn  out  wid  me  !  We'll  have  a  out-a- 
sight  time." 

The  woman  on  the  floor  cursed.  Jimmie 
was  intent  upon  his  bruised  forearms.  The 
girl  cast  a  glance  about  the  room  filled  with 
a  chaotic  mass  of  debris,  and  at  the  writhing 
body  of  her  mother. 

"  Git  thf  devil  outa  here." 

Maggie  went. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JIMMIE  had  an  idea  it  wasn't  common  cour 
tesy  for  a  friend  to  come  to  one's  home  and 
ruin  one's  sister.  But  he  was  not  sure  how 
much  Pete  knew  about  the  rules  of  polite 
ness. 

The  following  night  he  returned  home 
from  work  at  a  rather  late  hour  in  the  even 
ing.  In  passing  through  the  halls  he  came 
upon  the  gnarled  and  leathery  old  woman 
who  possessed  the  music  box.  She  was  grin 
ning  in  the  dim  light  that  drifted  through 
dust-stained  panes.  She  beckoned  to  him 
with  a  smudged  forefinger. 

"  Ah,  Jimmie,  what  do  yehs  t'ink  I  tumbled 
to,  las'  night?  It  was  deh  funnies'  t'ing  I  ever 
saw,"  she  cried,  coming  close  to  him  and  leer 
ing.  She  was  trembling  with  eagerness  to  tell 
.79 


80  MAGGIE. 

her  tale.  '•  I  was  by  me  door  las'  night  when 
yer  sister  and  her  jude  feller  came  in  late,  oh, 
very  late.  An*  she,  the  dear,  she  was  a-cryin' 
as  if  her  heart  would  break,  she  was.  It  was 
deh  funnies'  t'ing  I  ever  saw.  An'  right  out 
here  by  me  door  she  asked  him  did  he  love 
her,  did  he.  An*  she  was  a-cryin'  as  if  her 
heart  would  break,  poor  t'ing.  An'  him,  I 
could  see  be  deh  way  what  he  said  it 
dat  she  had  been  askin'  orften,  he  says, 
'  Oh,  gee,  yes/  he  says,  says  he,  '  Oh,  gee, 
yes.'  " 

Storm  clouds  swept  over  Jimmie's  face, 
but  he  turned  from  the  leathery  old  woman 
and  plodded  on  upstairs. 

"  Oh,  gee,  yes,"  she  called  after  him.  She 
laughed  a  laugh  that  was  like  a  prophetic 
croak. 

There  was  no  one  in  at  home.  The  rooms 
showed  that  attempts  had  been  made  at  tidy 
ing  them.  Parts  of  the  wreckage  of  the  day 
before  had  been  repaired  by  an  unskillful 
hand.  A  chair  or  two  and  the  table  stood 


MAGGIE.  8 1 

uncertainly  upon  legs.  The  floor  had  been 
newly  swept.  The  blue  ribbons  had  been  re 
stored  to  the  curtains,  and  the  lambrequin, 
with  its  immense  sheaves  of  yellow  wheat  and 
red  roses  of  equal  size,  had  been  returned,  in 
a  worn  and  sorry  state,  to  its  place  at  the 
mantel.  Maggie's  jacket  and  hat  were  gone 
from  the  nail  behind  the  door. 

Jimmie  walked  to  the  window  and  began 
to  look  through  the  blurred  glass.  It  oc 
curred  to  him  to  wonder  vaguely,  for  an  in 
stant,  if  some  of  the  women  of  his  acquaint 
ance  had  brothers. 

Suddenly,  however,  he  began  to  swear. 

"  But  he  was  me  frien' !  I  brought  'im 
here  !  Dat's  d'  devil  of  it !  " 

He  fumed  about  the  room,  his  anger  grad 
ually  rising  to  the  furious  pitch. 

"  I'll  kill  deh  jay  !  Dat's  what  I'll  do  !  I'll 
kill  deh  jay  !  " 

He  clutched  his  hat  and  sprang  toward  the 
door.  But  it  opened  and  his  mother's  great 
form  blocked  the  passage. 


82  MAGGIE. 

"  What's  d'  matter  wid  yeh  ? "  exclaimed 
she,  coming  into  the  rooms. 

Jimmie  gave  vent  to  a  sardonic  curse  and 
then  laughed  heavily. 

"  Well,  Maggie's  gone  teh  d'  devil !  Dat's 
what!  See?" 

"  Eh  ?  "  said  his  mother. 

"  Maggie's  gone  teh  d'  devil !  Are  yehs 
deaf?"  roared  Jimmie,  impatiently. 

"  Aw,  git  out ! "  murmured  the  mother,  as 
tounded. 

Jimmie  grunted,  and  then  began  to  stare 
out  of  the  window.  His  mother  sat  down 
in  a  chair,  but  a  moment  later  sprang  erect 
and  delivered  a  maddened  whirl  of  oaths. 
Her  son  turned  to  look  at  her  as  she 
reeled  and  swayed  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  her  fierce  face  convulsed  with  pas 
sion,  her  blotched  arms  raised  high  in  im 
precation. 

"  May  she  be  cursed  forever ! "  she  shrieked. 
"  May  she  eat  nothin'  but  stones  and  deh  dirt 
in  deh  street.  May  she  sleep  in  deh  gutter 


MAGGIE.  83 

an'  never  see  deh  sun  shine  again.     D'  bloom- 


in- 


"  Here,  now,"  said  her  son.  "  Go  fall  on 
yerself,  an*  quit  dat." 

The  mother  raised  lamenting  eyes  to  the 
ceiling. 

"  She's  d'  devil's  own  chil',  Jimmie,"  she 
whispered.  "  Ah,  who  would  tink  such  a 
bad  girl  could  grow  up  in  our  fambly,  Jim 
mie,  me  son.  Many  d'  hour  I've  spent  in 
talk  wid  dat  girl  an'  tol'  her  if  she  ever 

went  on  d'  streets  I'd  see  her  d d.  An' 

after  all  her  bringin'  up  an'  what  I  tol'  her 
and  talked  wid  her,  she  goes  teh  d'  bad,  like 
a  duck  teh  water." 

The  tears  rolled  down  her  furrowed  face. 
Her  hands  trembled. 

"  An'  den  when  dat  Sadie  MacMallister 
next  door  to  us  was  sent  teh  d'  devil  by  dat 
feller  what  worked  in  d'  soap  factory,  didn't 
I  tell  our  Mag  dat  if  she " 

"  Ah,  dat's  anudder  story,"  interrupted 
the  brother.  "  Of  course,  dat  Sadie  was 


84  MAGGIE. 

nice  an'  all  dat — but — see — it  ain't  dessame 
as  if — well,  Maggie  was  diffent  —  see  —  she 
was  diff'ent." 

He  was  trying  to  formulate  a  theory  that 
he  had  always  unconsciously  held,  that  all 
sisters,  excepting  his  own,  could,  advisedly, 
be  ruined. 

He  suddenly  broke  out  again.  "  I'll  go 
t'ump  d'  mug  what  done  her  d'  harm.  I'll 
kill  'im !  He  tinks  he  kin  scrap,  but  when 
he  gits  me  a-chasin'  'im  he'll  fin'  out  where 
he's  wrong,  d'  big  stuff!  I'll  wipe  up  d'  street 
wid  'im." 

In  a  fury  he  plunged  out  of  the  doorway. 
As  he  vanished  the  mother  raised  her  head 
and  lifted  both  hands,  entreating. 

"  May  she  be  cursed  forever ! "  she 
cried. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  hallway  Jimmie  dis 
cerned  a  knot  of  women  talking  volubly. 
When  he  strode  by  they  paid  no  attention  to 
him. 

"  She  allus  was  a  bold  thing,"  he  heard  one 


MAGGIE.  85 

of  them  cry  in  an  eager  voice.  "  Dere  wasn't 
a  feller  come  teh  deh  house  but  she'd  try  teh 
mash  'im.  My  Annie  says  deh  shameless  t'ing 
tried  teh  ketch  her  feller,  her  own  feller,  what 
we  useter  know  his  fader." 

"  I  could  a'  tol'  yehs  dis  two  years  ago," 
said  a  woman,  in  a  key  of  triumph.  "  Yes  sir, 
it  was  over  two  years  ago  dat  I  says  teh  my 
ol'  man,  I  says,  '  Dat  Johnson  girl  ain't 
straight/  I  says.  '  Oh,  rats  ! '  he  says.  '  Oh, 
h— 1 ! '  '  Dat's  all  right/  I  says,  '  but  I  know 
what  I  knows/  I  says,  'an'  it'ill  come  out 
later.  You  wait  an'  see/  I  says,  '  you  see.'  " 

"  Anybody  what  had  eyes  could  see  dat 
dere  was  somethin'  wrong  wid  dat  girl.  I 
didn't  like  her  actions." 

On  the  street  Jimmie  met  a  friend. 
"  What's  wrong  ?  "  asked  the  latter. 

Jimmie  explained.  "  An'  I'll  tump  'im  till 
he  can't  stand." 

"  Oh,  go  ahn  !  "  said  the  friend.  "  What's 
deh  use  !  Yeh'll  git  pulled  in  !  Everybody 
'ill  be  onto  it !  An'  ten  plunks !  Gee !  " 


86  MAGGIE. 

Jimmie  was  determined.  "  He  t'inks  he 
kin  scrap,  but  he'll  fin'  out  diffent." 

"  Gee !  "  remonstrated  the  friend,  "  what's 
d'  use?" 


CHAPTER   XL 

ON  a  corner  a  glass-fronted  building  shed 
a  yellow  glare  upon  the  pavements.  The 
open  mouth  of  a  saloon  called  seductively 
to  passengers  to  enter  and  annihilate  sor 
row  or  create  rage. 

The  interior  of  the  place  was  papered  in 
olive  and  bronze  tints  of  imitation  leather. 
A  shining  bar  of  counterfeit  massiveness  ex 
tended  down  the  side  of  the  room.  Behind 
it  a  great  mahogany-imitation  sideboard 
reached  the  ceiling.  Upon  its  shelves 
rested  pyramids  of  shimmering  glasses  that 
were  never  disturbed.  Mirrors  set  in  the 
face  of  the  sideboard  multiplied  them. 
Lemons,  oranges,  and  paper  napkins,  ar 
ranged  with  mathematical  precision,  sat 

among    the    glasses.      Many-hued    decanters 
87 


88  MAGGIE. 

of  liquor  perched  at  regular  intervals  on 
the  lower  shelves.  A  nickel-plated  cash 
register  occupied  a  place  in  the  exact 
centre  of  the  general  effect.  The  elemen 
tary  senses  of  it  all  seemed  to  be  opulence 
and  geometrical  accuracy. 

Across  from  the  bar  a  smaller  counter  held 
a  collection  of  plates  upon  which  swarmed 
frayed  fragments  of  crackers,  slices  of 
boiled  ham,  dishevelled  bits  of  cheese,  and 
pickles  swimming  in  vinegar.  An  odour  of 
grasping,  begrimed  hands  and  munching 
mouths  pervaded  all. 

Pete,  in  a  white  jacket,  was  behind  the 
bar  bending  expectantly  toward  a  quiet 
stranger.  "  A  beeh,"  said  the  man.  Pete 
drew  a  foam-topped  glassful  and  set  it 
dripping  upon  the  bar. 

At  this  moment  the  light  bamboo  doors 
at  the  entrance  swung  open  and  crashed 
against  the  wall.  Jimmie  and  a  compan 
ion  entered.  They  swaggered  unsteadily 
but  belligerently  toward  the  bar  and 


MAGGIE. 


89 


looked  at  Pete  with  bleared  and  blinking 
eyes. 

"  Gin,"  said  Jimmie. 

"  Gin,"  said  the  companion. 

Pete  slid  a  bottle  and  two  glasses  along 
the  bar.  He  bent  his  head  sideways  as  he 
assiduously  polished  away  with  a  napkin  at 
the  gleaming  wood.  He  wore  a  look  of 
watchfulness. 

Jimmie  and  his  companion  kept  their 
eyes  upon  the  bartender  and  conversed 
loudly  in  tones  of  contempt. 

"  He's  a  dandy  masher,  ain't  he  ?  "  laughed 
Jimmie. 

"  Well,  ain't  he !  "  said  the  companion, 
sneering.  "  He's  great,  he  is.  Git  onto  deh 
mug  on  deh  blokie.  Dat's  enough  to  make 
a  feller  turn  handsprings  in  'is  sleep." 

The  quiet  stranger  moved  himself  and 
his  glass  a  trifle  farther  away  and  main 
tained  an  attitude  of  obliviousness. 

"  Gee  !   ain't  he  hot  stuff !  " 

"  Git  onto  his  shape  !  " 


pO  MAGGIE. 

"Hey!"  cried  Jimmie,  in  tones  of  com 
mand.  Pete  came  along  slowly,  with  a 
sullen  dropping  of  the  under  lip. 

"Well,"  he  growled,  "what's  eatin* 
yens?" 

"  Gin,"  said  Jimmie. 

"  Gin,"  said  the  companion. 

As  Pete  confronted  them  with  the  bottle 
and  the  glasses  they  laughed  in  his  face. 
Jimmie's  companion,  evidently  overcome 
with  merriment,  pointed  a  grimy  forefinger 
in  Pete's  direction, 

"Say,  Jimmie,"  demanded  he,  "what's 
dat  behind  d'  bar?" 

"  Look's  like  some  chump,"  replied  Jim 
mie.  They  laughed  loudly.  Pete  put  down 
a  bottle  with  a  bang  and  turned  a  formi 
dable  face  toward  them.  He  disclosed  his 
teeth  and  his  shoulders  heaved  restlessly. 

"  You  fellers  can't  guy  me,"  he  said. 
"  Drink  yer  stuff  an'  git  out  an'  don'  make 
no  trouble." 

Instantly    the    laughter    faded    from    the 


MAGGIE.  gi 

faces  of  the  two  men  and  expressions  of 
offended  dignity  immediately  came. 

"  Aw,  who  has  said  anyt'ing  t'  you  ? " 
cried  they  in  the  same  breath. 

The  quiet  stranger  looked  at  the  door 
calculatingly. 

"Ah,  come  off,"  said  Pete  to  the  two 
men.  "  Don't  pick  me  up  for  no  jay. 
Drink  yer  rum  an'  git  out  an'  don'  make 
no  trouble." 

"Aw,  go  ahn!"  airily  cried  Jimmie. 

"  Aw,  go  ahn  !  "  airily  repeated  his  com 
panion. 

"We  goes  when  we  git  ready!  See?" 
continued  Jimmie. 

"  Well,"  said  Pete  in  a  threatening  voice, 
"  don'  make  no  trouble." 

Jimmie  suddenly  leaned  forward  with  his 
head  on  one  side.  He  snarled  like  a  wild 
animal. 

"Well,  what  if  we  does?     See?"  said  he. 

Hot  blood  flushed  into  Pete's  face,  and 
he  shot  a  lurid  glance  at  Jimmie. 

7 


92  MAGGIE. 

"  Well,  den  we'll  see  who's  d'  bes'  man, 
you  or  me,"  he  said. 

The  quiet  stranger  moved  modestly  to 
ward  the  door. 

Jimmie  began  to  swell  with  valour. 

"  Don'  pick  me  up  fer  no  tenderfoot. 
When  yeh  tackles  me  yeh  tackles  one  of 
d'  bes'  men  in  d'  city.  See  ?  I'm  a  scrap 
per,  I  am.  Ain't  dat  right,  Billie  ?  " 

"  Sure,  Mike,"  responded  his  companion 
in  tones  of  conviction. 

"  Aw  !  "  said  Pete,  easily.  "  Go  fall  on 
yerself." 

The  two  men  again  began  to  laugh. 

"  What  is  dat  talking  ? "  cried  the  com 
panion. 

"  Don'  ast  me,"  replied  Jimmie  with  ex 
aggerated  contempt. 

Pete  made  a  furious  gesture.  "  Git  outa 
here  now,  an*  don'  make  no  trouble.  See  ? 
Youse  fellers  er  lookin'  fer  a  scrap  an'  it's 
like  yeh'll  fin'  one  if  yeh  keeps  on  shootin' 
off  yer  mout's.  I  know  yehs  !  See  ?  I  kin 


MAGGIE.  93 

lick  better  men  dan  yehs  ever  saw  in  yer 
lifes.  Dat's  right !  See  ?  Don'  pick  me 
up  fer  no  stuff  er  yeh  might  be  jolted 
out  in  d'  street  before  yeh  knows  where 
yeh  is.  When  I  comes  from  behind  dis 
bar,  I  t'rows  yehs  boat  inteh  d'  street. 
See  ? " 

"  Aw,  go  ahn ! "  cried  the  two  men  in 
chorus. 

The  glare  of  a  panther  came  into  Pete's 
eyes.  "  Dat's  what  I  said  !  Unnerstan'  ? " 

He  came  through  a  passage  at  the  end 
of  the  bar  and  swelled  down  upon  the  two 
men.  They  stepped  promptly  forward  and 
crowded  close  to  him. 

They  bristled  like  three  roosters.  They 
moved  their  heads  pugnaciously  and  kept 
their  shoulders  braced.  The  nervous  mus 
cles  about  each  mouth  twitched  with  a 
forced  smile  of  mockery. 

"Well,  what  yer  goin'  t'  do?"  gritted 
Jimmie. 

Pete    stepped    warily    back,    waving    his 


94 


MAGGIE. 


hands  before  him  to  keep  the  men  from 
coming  too  near. 

"  Well,  what  yer  goin'  t'  do  ?  "  repeated 
Jimmie's  ally.  They  kept  close  to  him, 
taunting  and  leering.  They  strove  to  make 
him  attempt  the  initial  blow. 

"  Keep  back  now !  Don'  crowd  me," 
said  Pete  ominously. 

Again  they  chorused  in  contempt.  "  Aw, 
go  ahn ! " 

In  a  small,  tossing  group,  the  three  men 
edged  for  positions  like  frigates  contemplat 
ing  battle. 

"  Well,  why  don*  yeh  try  t'  t'row  us 
out  ? "  cried  Jimmy  and  his  ally  with  copi 
ous  sneers. 

The  bravery  of  bulldogs  sat  upon  the 
faces  of  the  men.  Their  clinched  fists 
moved  like  eager  weapons. 

The  allied  two  jostled  the  bartender's 
elbows,  glaring  at  him  with  feverish  eyes 
and  forcing  him  toward  the  wall. 

Suddenly     Pete     swore     furiously.      The 


MAGGIE.  95 

flash  of  action  gleamed  from  his  eyes.  He 
threw  back  his  arm  and  aimed  a  tremen 
dous,  lightning-like  blow  at  Jimmie's  face. 
His  foot  swung  a  step  forward  and  the 
weight  of  his  body  was  behind  his  fist. 
Jimmie  ducked  his  head,  Bowery-like,  with 
the  quickness  of  a  cat.  The  fierce,  answer 
ing  blows  of  Jimmie  and  his  ally  crushed 
on  Pete's  bowed  head. 

The  quiet  stranger  vanished. 

The  arms  of  the  combatants  whirled  in 
the  air  like  flails.  The  faces  of  the  men,  at 
first  flushed  to  flame-coloured  anger,  now 
began  to  fade  to  the  pallor  of  warriors  in 
the  blood  and  heat  of  a  battle.  Their  lips 
curled  back  and  stretched  tightly  over  the 
gums  in  ghoul-like  grins.  Through  their 
white,  gripped  teeth  struggled  hoarse  whis 
perings  of  oaths.  Their  eyes  glittered  with 
murderous  fire. 

Each  head  was  huddled  between  its 
owner's  shoulders,  and  arms  were  swinging 
with  marvellous  rapidity.  Feet  scraped  to 


96  MAGGIE. 

and  fro  with  a  loud  scratching  sound  upon 
the  sanded  floor.  Blows  left  crimson 
blotches  upon  the  pale  skin.  The  curses 
of  the  first  quarter  minute  of  the  fight 
died  away.  The  breaths  of  the  fighters 
came  wheezingly  from  their  lips  and  the 
three  chests  were  straining  and  heaving. 
Pete  at  intervals  gave  vent  to  low,  laboured 
hisses,  that  sounded  like  a  desire  to  kill. 
Jimmie's  ally  gibbered  at  times  like  a 
wounded  maniac.  Jimmie  was  silent,  fight 
ing  with  the  face  of  a  sacrificial  priest. 
The  rage  of  fear  shone  in  all  their  eyes 
and  their  blood-coloured  fists  whirled. 

At  a  critical  moment  a  blow  from  Pete's 
hand  struck  the  ally  and  he  crashed  to  the 
floor.  He  wriggled  instantly  to  his  feet, 
and  grasping  the  quiet  stranger's  beer  glass 
from  the  bar,  hurled  it  at  Pete's  head. 

High  on  the  wall  it  burst  like  a  bomb, 
shivering  fragments  flying  in  all  directions. 
Then  missiles  came  to  every  man's  hand. 
The  place  had  heretofore  appeared  free  of 


MAGGIE.  Q7 

things  to  throw,  but  suddenly  glasses  and 
bottles  went  singing  through  the  air. 
They  were  thrown  point-blank  at  bobbing 
heads.  The  pyramid  of  shimmering  glasses, 
that  had  never  been  disturbed,  changed  to 
cascades  as  heavy  bottles  were  flung  into 
them.  Mirrors  splintered  to  nothing. 

The  three  frothing  creatures  on  the  floor 
buried  themselves  in  a  frenzy  for  blood. 
There  followed  in  the  wake  of  missiles  and 
fists  some  unknown  prayers,  perhaps  for 
death. 

The  quiet  stranger  had  sprawled  very 
pyrotechnically  out  on  the  sidewalk.  A 
laugh  ran  up  and  down  the  avenue  for  the 
half  of  a  block. 

"  Dey've  trowed  a  bloke  inteh  deh 
street." 

People  heard  the  sound  of  breaking  glass 
and  shuffling  feet  within  the  saloon  and 
came  running.  A  small  group,  bending 
down  to  look  under  the  bamboo  doors,  and 
watching  the  fall  of  glass  and  three  pairs 


98 


MAGGIE. 


of  violent  legs,  changed  in  a  moment  to  a 
crowd. 

A  policeman  came  charging  down  the 
sidewalk  and  bounced  through  the  doors 
into  the  saloon.  The  crowd  bent  and 
surged  in  absorbing  anxiety  to  see. 

Jimmie  caught  the  first  sight  of  the  on 
coming  interruption.  On  his  feet  he  had 
the  same  regard  for  a  policeman  that, 
when  on  his  truck,  he  had  for  a  fire  en 
gine.  He  howled  and  ran  for  the  side 
door. 

The  officer  made  a  terrific  advance,  club 
in  hand.  One  comprehensive  sweep  of  the 
long  night  stick  threw  the  ally  to  the  floor 
and  forced  Pete  to  a  corner.  With  his 
disengaged  hand  he  made  a  furious  effort 
at  Jimmie's  coat  tails.  Then  he  regained  his 
balance  and  paused. 

"  Well,  well,  you  are  a  pair  of  pictures. 
What  have  yell  been  up  to  ?  " 

Jimmie,  with  his  face  drenched  in  blood, 
escaped  up  a  side  street,  pursued  a  short 


MAGGIE.  99 

distance  by  some  of  the  more  law-loving-, 
or  excited  individuals  of  the  crowd. 

Later,  from  a  safe  dark  corner,  he  saw 
the  policeman,  the  ally,  and  the  bartender 
emerge  from  the  saloon.  Pete  locked  the 
doors  and  then  followed  up  the  avenue  in 
the  rear  of  the  crowd-encompassed  police 
man  and  his  charge. 

At  first  Jimmie,  with  his  heart  throbbing 
at  battle  heat,  started  to  go  desperately  to 
the  rescue  of  his  friend,  but  he  halted. 

"  Ah,  what's  d'  use?"  he  demanded  of 
himself. 


CHAPTER   XII. 
t 

IN  a  hall  of  irregular  shape  sat  Pete  and 

Maggie  drinking  beer.  A  submissive  orches 
tra  dictated  to  by  a  spectacled  man  with 
frowsy  hair  and  in  soiled  evening  dress,  indus 
triously  followed  the  bobs  of  his  head  and  the 
waves  of  his  baton.  A  ballad  singer,  in  a 
gown  of  flaming  scarlet,  sang  in  the  inevitable 
voice  of  brass.  When  she  vanished,  men 
seated  at  the  tables  near  the  front  applauded 
loudly,  pounding  the  polished  wood  with 
their  beer  glasses.  She  returned  attired  in 
less  gown,  and  sang  again.  She  received  an 
other  enthusiastic  encore.  She  reappeared  in 
still  less  gown  and  danced.  The  deafening 
rumble  of  glasses  and  clapping  of  hands  that 
followed  her  exit  indicated  an  overwhelming 
desire  to  have  her  come  on  for  the  fourth 

100 


MAGGIE. 


101 


time,  but  the  curiosity  of  the  audience  was 
not  gratified. 

Maggie  was  pale.  From  her  eyes  had 
been  plucked  all  look  of  self-reliance.  She 
leaned  with  a  dependent  air  toward  her  com 
panion.  She  was  timid,  as  if  fearing  his  anger 
or  displeasure.  She  seemed  to  beseech  ten 
derness  of  him. 

Pete's  air  of  distinguished  valour  had 
grown  upon  him  until  it  threatened  to  reach 
stupendous  dimensions.  He  was  infinitely 
gracious  to  the  girl.  It  was  apparent  to  her 
that  his  condescension  was  a  marvel. 

He  could  appear  to  strut  even  while  sit 
ting  still,  and  he  showed  that  he  was  a  lion  of 
lordly  characteristics  by  the  air  with  which  he 
spat. 

With  Maggie  gazing  at  him  wonderingly, 
he  took  pride  in  commanding  the  waiters,  who 
were,  however,  indifferent  or  deaf. 

"  Hi,  you,  git  a  russle  on  yehs !  What 
yehs  lookin'  at?  Two  more  beehs,  d'yeh 
hear?" 


102  MAGGIE. 

He  leaned  back  and  critically  regarded  the 
person  of  a  girl  with  a  straw-coloured  wig 
who  was  flinging  her  heels  about  upon  the 
stage  in  somewhat  awkward  imitation  of  a 
well-known  danseuse. 

At  times  Maggie  told  Pete  long  confiden 
tial  tales  ol  her  former  home  life,  dwelling 
upon  the  escapades  of  the  other  members  of 
the  family  and  the  difficulties  she  had  had  to 
combat  in  order  to  obtain  a  degree  of  comfort. 
He  responded  in  the  accents  of  philanthropy. 
He  pressed  her  arm  with  an  air  of  reassuring 
proprietorship. 

"  Dey  was  cursed  jays,"  he  said,  denounc 
ing  the  mother  and  brother. 

The  sound  of  the  music  which,  through 
the  efforts  of  the  frowsy-headed  leader,  drifted 
to  her  ears  in  the  smoked-filled  atmosphere, 
made  the  girl  dream.  She  thought  of  her 
former  Rum  Alley  environment  and  turned  to 
regard  Pete's  strong  protecting  fists.  She 
thought  of  a  collar-and-cuff  manufactory  and 
the  eternal  moan  of  the  proprietor :  "  What 


MAGGIE.  I03 

een  hale  do  you  sink  I  pie  fife  dolla  a  week 
for?  Play?  No,  py  tamn ! "  She  contem 
plated  Pete's  man-subduing  eyes  and  noted 
that  wealth  and  prosperity  were  indicated  by 
his  clothes.  She  imagined  a  future,  rose- 
tinted,  because  of  its  distance  from  all  that  she 
had  experienced  before. 

As  to  the  present  she  perceived  only 
vague  reasons  to  be  miserable.  Her  life  was 
Pete's  and  she  considered  him  worthy  of  the 
charge.  She  would  be  disturbed  by  no  par 
ticular  apprehensions,  so  long  as  Pete  adored 
her  as  he  now  said  he  did.  She  did  not  feel 
like  a  bad  woman.  To  her  knowledge  she 
had  never  seen  any  better. 

At  times  men  at  other  tables  regarded  the 
girl  furtively.  Pete,  aware  of  it,  nodded  at 
her  and  grinned.  He  felt  proud. 

"  Mag,  yer  a  bloomin'  good-looker,"  he  re 
marked,  studying  her  face  through  the  haze. 
The  men  made  Maggie  fear,  but  she  blushed 
at  Pete's  words  as  it  became  apparent  to  her 
that  she  was  the  apple  of  his  eye. 


104 


MAGGIE. 


Gray-headed  men,  wonderfully  pathetic  in 
their  dissipation,  stared  at  her  through  clouds. 
Smooth-cheeked  boys,  some  of  them  with 
faces  of  stone  and  mouths  of  sin,  not  nearly  so 
pathetic  as  the  gray  heads,  tried  to  find  the 
girl's  eyes  in  the  smoke  wreaths.  Maggie 
considered  she  was  not  what  they  thought  her. 
She  confined  her  glances  to  Pete  and  the  stage. 

The  orchestra  played  negro  melodies  and 
a  versatile  drummer  pounded,  whacked,  clat 
tered,  and  scratched  on  a  dozen  machines  to 
make  noise. 

Those  glances  of  the  men,  shot  at  Maggie 
from  under  half-closed  lids,  made  her  tremble. 
She  thought  them  all  to  be  worse  men  than 
Pete. 

"  Come,  let's  go,"  she  said. 

As  they  went  out  Maggie  perceived  two 
women  seated  at  a  table  with  some  men. 
They  were  painted  and  their  cheeks  had  lost 
their  roundness.  As  she  passed  them  the  girl, 
with  a  shrinking  movement,  drew  back  her 
skirts. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

JIMMIE  did  not  return  home  for  a  number 
of  days  after  the  fight  with  Pete  in  the  saloon. 
When  he  did,  he  approached  with  extreme 
caution. 

He  found  his  mother  raving.  Maggie  had 
not  returned  home.  The  parent  continually 
wondered  how  her  daughter  could  come  to 
such  a  pass.  She  had  never  considered  Mag 
gie  as  a  pearl  dropped  unstained  into  Rum 
Alley  from  Heaven,  but  she  could  not  con 
ceive  how  it  was  possible  for  her  daughter  to 
fall  so  low  as  to  bring  disgrace  upon  her  fam 
ily.  She  was  terrific  in  denunciation  of  the 
girl's  wickedness. 

The  fact  that  the  neighbours  talked  of  it 
maddened  her.  When  women  came  in,  and 

in  the   course  of  their  conversation  casually 
105 


106  MAGGIE. 

asked,  "  Where's  Maggie  dese  days  ?  '*  the 
mother  shook  her  fuzzy  head  at  them  and 
appalled  them  with  curses.  Cunning  hints 
inviting  confidence  she  rebuffed  with  vio 
lence. 

"  An'  wid  all  d'  bringin'  up  she  had,  how 
could  she  ?  "  moaningly  she  asked  of  her  son. 
"  Wid  all  d'  talkin'  wid  her  I  did  an'  d'  t'ings 
I  tol'  her  to  remember?  When  a  girl  is 
bringed  up  d'  way  I  bringed  up  Maggie,  how 
kin  she  go  teh  d'  devil?" 

Jimmie  was  tranfixed  by  these  questions. 
He  could  not  conceive  how  under  the  circum 
stances  his  mother's  daughter  and  his  sister 
could  have  been  so  wicked. 

His  mother  took  a  drink  from  a  bottle 
that  sat  on  the  table.  She  continued  her  la 
ment. 

"  She  had  a  bad  heart,  dat  girl  did,  Jim 
mie.  She  was  wicked  t'  d'  heart  an'  we  never 
knowed  it." 

Jimmie  nodded,  admitting  the  fact. 

"  We  lived  in  d'  same  house  wid  her  an'  I 


MAGGIE.  JO/ 

brought  her  up  an'  we  never  knowed  how  bad 
she  was." 

Jimmie  nodded  again. 

"  Wid  a  home  like  dis  an'  a  mudder  like 
me,  she  went  teh  d'  bad,"  cried  the  mother, 
raising  her  eyes. 

One  day  Jimmie  came  home,  sat  down  in 
a  chair,  and  began  to  wriggle  about  with  a 
new  and  strange  nervousness.  At  last  he 
spoke  shamefacedly. 

"  Well,  look-a-here,  dis  t'ing  queers  us ! 
See  ?  We're  queered  !  An'  maybe  it  'ud  be 
better  if  I — well,  I  t'ink  I  kin  look  'er  up  an' — 
maybe  it  'ud  be  better  if  I  fetched  her  home 
an " 

-The  mother  started  from  her  chair  and 
broke  forth  into  a  storm  of  passionate  anger. 

"  What !  Let  'er  come  an'  sleep  under  deh 
same  roof  wid  her  mudder  agin  !  Oh,  yes,  I 
will,  won't  I  ?  Sure  ?  Shame  on  yehs,  Jim 
mie  Johnson,  fer  sayin'  such  a  t'ing  teh  yer 
own  mudder — teh  yer  own  mudder !  Little 
did  I  tink  when  yehs  was  a  babby  playin' 

8 


108  MAGGIE. 

about  me  feet  dat  ye'd  grow  up  teh  say  sech  a 
t'ing  teh  yer  mudder — yer  own   mudder.      I 
never  taut- 
Sobs  choked   her  and   interrupted  her  re 
proaches. 

"  Dere  ain't  nottin'  teh  make  sech  trouble 
about,"  said  Jimmie.  "  I  on'y  says  it  'ud  be 
better  if  we  keep  dis  t'ing  dark,  see?  It 
queers  us!  See?  " 

His  mother  laughed  a  laugh  that  seemed 
to  ring  through  the  city  and  be  echoed  and  re 
echoed  by  countless  other  laughs.  "  Oh,  yes, 
I  will,  won't  I !  Sure  !  " 

"  Well,  yeh  must  take  me  fer  a  d — n  fool," 
said  Jimmie,  indignant  at  his  mother  for 
mocking  him.  "  I  didn't  say  we'd  make  'er 
inteh  a  little  tin  angel,  ner  nottin',  but  deh 
way  it  is  now  she  can  queer  us  !  Don'  che 
see?" 

"  Aye,  she'll  git  tired  of  deh  life  atter  a 
while  an'  den  she'll  wanna  be  a-comin'  home, 
won'  she,  deh  beast !  I'll  let  'er  in  den, 
won'  I?" 


MAGGIE. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  mean  none  of  dis  prod'gal 
business  anyway,"  explained  Jimmie. 

"  It  wa'n't  no  prod'gal  dauter,  yeh  fool," 
said  the  mother.  "  It  was  prod'gal  son,  any 
how." 

"  I  know  dat,"  said  Jimmie. 

For  a  time  they  sat  in  silence.  The  moth 
er's  eyes  gloated  on  the  scene  which  her  im 
agination  called  before  her.  Her  lips  were 
set  in  a  vindictive  smile. 

"  Aye,  she'll  cry,  won*  she,  an'  carry  on, 
an*  tell  how  Pete,  or  some  odder  feller,  beats 
'er  an'  she'll  say  she's  sorry  an'  all  dat  an'  she 
ain't  happy,  she  ain't,  and  she  wants  to  come 
home  agin,  she  does." 

With  grim  humour  the  mother  imitated  the 
possible  wailing  notes  of  the  daughter's  voice. 

"  Den  I'll  take  'er  in,  won't  I  ?  She  kin 
cry  'er  two  eyes  out  on  deh  stones  of  deh 
street  before  I'll  dirty  d'  place  wid  her.  She 
abused  an'  ill-treated  her  own  mudder — her 
own  mudder  what  loved  her,  an'  she'll  never 
git  anodder  chance." 


HO  MAGGIE. 

Jimmie  thought  he  had  a  great  idea  of 
women's  frailty,  but  he  could  not  understand 
why  any  of  his  kin  should  be  victims. 

"  Curse  her !  "  he  said  fervidly. 

Again  he  wondered  vaguely  if  some  of  the 
women  of  his  acquaintance  had  brothers. 
Nevertheless,  his  mind  did  not  for  an  instant 
confuse  himself  with  those  brothers  nor  his 
sister  with  theirs.  After  the  mother  had,  with 
great  difficulty,  suppressed  the  neighbours, 
she  went  among  them  and  proclaimed  her 
grief.  "  May  Heaven  forgive  dat  girl,"  was 
her  continual  cry.  To  attentive  ears  she  re 
cited  the  whole,  length  and  breadth  of  her 
woes. 

"  I  bringed/er  up  deh  way  a  dauter  oughta 
be  bringed  up,  an'  dis  is  how  she  served  me ! 
She  went  teh  deh  devil  deh  first  chance  she 
got!  May  Heaven  forgive  her." 

When  arrested  for  drunkenn'ess  she  used 
the  story  of  her  daughter's  downfall  with  tell 
ing  effect  upon  the  police  justices.  Finally 
one  of  them  said  to  her,  peering  down  over 


MAGGIE.  1 1 1 

his  spectacles  :  "  Mary,  the  records  of  this  and 
other  courts  show  that  you  are  the  mother  of 
forty-two  daughters  who  have  been  ruined. 
The  case  is  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of  this 
court,  and  this  court  thinks '' 

The  mother  went  through  life  shedding 
large  tears  of  sorrow.  Her  red  face  was  a 
picture  of  agony. 

Of  course  Jimmie  publicly  damned  his 
sister  that  he  might  appear  on  a  higher 
social  plane.  But,  arguing  with  himself, 
stumbling  about  in  ways  that  he  knew  not, 
he,  once,  almost  came  to  a  conclusion  that 
his  sister  would  have  been  more  firmly 
good  had  she  better  known  why.  How 
ever,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  hold  such 
a  view.  He  threw  it  hastily  aside. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  a  hilarious  hall  there  were  twenty- 
eight  tables  and  twenty-eight  women  and  a 
crowd  of  smoking  men.  Valiant  noise  was 
made  on  a  stage  at  the  end  of  the  hall  by 
an  orchestra  composed  of  men  who  looked 
as  if  they  had  just  happened  in.  Soiled 
waiters  ran  to  and  fro,  swooping  down  like 
hawks  on  the  -unwary  in  the  throng ;  clat 
tering  along  the  aisles  with  trays  covered 
with  glasses  ;  stumbling  over  women's  skirts 
and  charging  two  prices  for  everything  but 
beer,  all  with  a  swiftness  that  blurred  the 
view  of  the  cocoanut  palms  and  dusty 
monstrosities  painted  upon  the  walls  of  the 
room.  A  "  bouncer,"  with  an  immense  load 
of  business  upon  his  hands,  plunged  about 
in  the  crowd,  dragging  bashful  strangers  to 


112 


MAGGIE. 

prominent  chairs,  ordering  waiters  here  and 
there,  and  quarrelling  furiously  with  men 
who  wanted  to  sing  with  the  orchestra. 

The  usual  smoke  cloud  was  present,  but 
so  dense  that  heads  and  arms  seemed  en 
tangled  in  it.  The  rumble  of  conversation 
was  replaced  by  a  roar.  Plenteous  oaths 
heaved  through  the  air.  The  room  rang 
with  the  shrill  voices  of  women  bubbling 
over  with  drink  laughter.  The  chief  element 
in  the  music  of  the  orchestra  was  speed. 
The  musicians  played  in  intent  fury.  A 
woman  was  singing  and  smiling  upon  the 
stage,  but  no  one  took  notice  of  her.  The 
rate  at  which  the  piano,  cornet,  and  violins 
were  going,  seemed  to  impart  wildness  to 
the  half-drunken  crowd.  Beer  glasses  were 
emptied  at  a  gulp  and  conversation  became 
a  rapid  chatter.  The'  smoke  eddied  and 
swirled  like  a  shadowy  river  hurrying  to 
ward  some  unseen  falls.  Pete  and  Maggie 
entered  the  hall  and  took  chairs  at  a  table 
near  the  door.  The  woman  who  was 


I!4  MAGGIE. 

seated  there  made  an  attempt  to  occupy 
Pete's  attention  and,  failing,  went  away. 

Three  weeks  had  passed  since  the  girl 
had  left  home.  The  air  of  spaniel-like  de 
pendence  had  been  magnified  and  showed 
its  direct  effect  in  the  peculiar  off-handed- 
ness  and  ease  of  Pete's  ways  toward  her. 

She  followed  Pete's  eyes  with  hers,  an 
ticipating  with  smiles  gracious  looks  from 
him. 

A  woman  of  brilliance  and  audacity,  ac 
companied  by  a  mere  boy,  came  into  the 
place  and  took  a  seat  near  them. 

At  once  Pete  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face 
beaming  with  glad  surprise. 

"  Hully  gee,  dere's  Nellie  !  "  he  cried. 

He  went  over  to  the  table  and  held  out 
an  eager  hand  to  the  woman. 

"  Why,  hello,  Pdte,  me  boy,  how  are 
you  ?  "  said  she,  giving  him  her  fingers. 

Maggie  took  instant  note  of  the  woman. 
She  perceived  that  her  black  dress  fitted 
her  to  perfection.  Her  linen  collar  and 


MAGGIE.  1 1 5 

cuffs  were  spotless.  Tan  gloves  were 
stretched  over  her  well-shaped  hands.  A 
hat  of  a  prevailing  fashion  perched  jauntily 
upon  her  dark  hair.  She  wore  no  jewellery 
and  was  painted  with  no  apparent  paint. 
She  looked  clear  eyed  through  the  stares  of 
the  men. 

"  Sit  down;  and  call  your  lady  friend 
over,"  she  said  to  Pete.  At  his  beckoning 
Maggie  came  and  sat  between  Pete  and 
the  mere  boy. 

"  I  thought  yeh  were  gone  away  fer 
good,"  began  Pete,  at  once.  "  When  did 
yeh  git  back  ?  How  did  dat  Buff'lo  bus'- 
ness  turn  out?  " 

-  The  woman  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
11  Well,  he  didn't  have  as  many  stamps  as 
he  tried  to  make  out,  so  I  shook  him, 
that's  all." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  teh  see  yehs  back  in 
deh  city,"  said  Pete,  with  gallantry. 

He  and  the  woman  entered  into  a  long 
conversation,  exchanging  reminiscences  of 


Il6  MAGGIE. 

days  together.  Maggie  sat  still,  unable  to 
formulate  an  intelligent  sentence  as  her  ad 
dition  to  the  conversation  and  painfully  aware 
of  it. 

She  saw  Pete's  eyes  sparkle  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  handsome  stranger.  He  listened 
smilingly  to  all  she  said.  The  woman  was 
familiar  with  all  his  affairs,  asked  him 
about  mutual  friends,  and  knew  the  amount 
of  his  salary. 

She  paid  no  attention  to  Maggie,  looking 
toward  her  once  or  twice  and  apparently  see 
ing  the  wall  beyond. 

The  mere  boy  was  sulky.  In  the  begin 
ning  he  had  welcomed  the  additions  with  ac 
clamations. 

"Let's  all  have  a  drink!  What'll  you 
take,  Nell  ?  And  you,  Miss  What's-your-name. 
Have  a  drink,  Mr.  -  — ,  you,  I  mean." 

He  had  shown  a  sprightly  desire  to  do  the 
talking  for  the  company  and  tell  all  about  his 
family.  In  a  loud  voice  he  declaimed  on  vari 
ous  topics.  He  assumed  a  patronizing  air  to- 


MAGGIE.  ii  7 

ward  Pete.  As  Maggie  was  silent,  he  paid  no 
attention  to  her.  He  made  a  great  show  of 
lavishing  wealth  upon  the  woman  of  brilliance 
and  audacity. 

"  Do  keep  still,  Freddie  !  You  talk  like  a 
clock,"  said  the  woman  to  him.  She  turned 
away  and  devoted  her  attention  to  Pete. 

"  We'll  have  many  a  good  time  together 
again,  eh  ?  " 

"  Sure,  Mike,"  said  Pete,  enthusiastic  at 
once. 

"Say,"  whispered  she,  leaning  forward, 
"let's  go  over  to  Billie's  and  have  a  time." 

"  Well,  it's  dis  way  !  See  ?  "  said  Pete.  "  I 
got  dis  lady  frien'  here." 

"  Oh,  g '  way  with  her,"  argued  the 
woman. 

Pete  appeared  disturbed. 

"All  right,"  said  she,  nodding  her  head 
at  him.  "  All  right  for  you  !  We'll  see  the 
next  time  you  ask  me  to  go  anywheres  with 
you." 

Pete  squirmed. 


H8  MAGGIE. 

"Say,"  he  said,  beseechingly,  "come  wid 
me  a  minit  an'  I'll  tell  yer  why." 

The  woman  waved  her  hand. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  you  needn't  explain, 
you  know.  You  wouldn't  come  merely  be 
cause  you  wouldn't  come,  that's  all." 

To  Pete's  visible  distress  she  turned  to  the 
mere  boy,  bringing  him  speedily  out  of  a  ter 
rific  rage.  He  had  been  debating  whether  it 
would  be  the  part  of  a  man  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  Pete,  or  would  he  be  justified  in  striking 
him  savagely  with  his  beer  glass  without 
warning.  But  he  recovered  himself  when  the 
woman  turned  vto  renew  her  smilings.  He 
beamed  upon  her  with  an  expression  that  was 
somewhat  tipsy  and  inexpressibly  tender. 

"  Say,  shake  that  Bowery  jay,"  requested 
he,  in  a  loud  whisper. 

"  Freddie,  you  are  so  funny,"  she  replied. 

Pete  reached  forward  and  touched  the 
woman  on  the  arm. 

"  Come  out  a  minit  while  I  tells  yeh  why  I 
can't  go  wid  yer.  Yer  doin'  me  dirt,  Nell ! 


MAGGIE.  ng 

I  never  taut  ye'd  do  me  dirt,  Nell.  Come 
on,  will  yer?"  He  spoke  in  tones  of  injury. 

"  Why,  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  inter 
ested  in  your  explanations,"  said  the  woman, 
with  a  coldness  that  seemed  to  reduce  Pete  to 
a  pulp. 

His  eyes  pleaded  with  her.  "  Come  out  a 
minit  while  I  tells  yeh.  On  d'  level,  now." 

The  woman  nodded  slightly  at  Maggie 
and  the  mere  boy,  saying,  "  Scuse  me." 

The  mere  boy  interrupted  his  loving  smile 
and  turned  a  shrivelling  glare  upon  Pete.  His 
boyish  countenance  flushed  and  he  spoke  in  a 
whine  to  the  woman : 

"  Oh,  I  say,  Nellie,  this  ain't  a  square  deal, 
you  know.  You  aren't  goin'  to  leave  me  and 
go  off  with  that  duffer,  are  you  ?  I  should 
think " 

"  Why,  you  dear  boy,  of  course  I'm  not," 
cried  the  woman,  affectionately.  She  bent 
over  and  whispered  in  his  ear.  He  smiled 
again  and  settled  in  his  chair  as  if  resolved  to 
wait  patiently. 


120  MAGGIE. 

As  the  woman  walked  down  between  the 
rows  of  tables,  Pete  was  at  her  shoulder  talk 
ing  earnestly,  apparently  in  explanation.  The 
woman  waved  her  hands  with  studied  airs  of 
indifference.  The  doors  swung  behind  them, 
leaving  Maggie  and  the  mere  boy  seated  at 
the  table. 

Maggie  was  dazed.  She  could  dimly  per 
ceive  that  something  stupendous  had  hap 
pened.  She  wondered  why  Pete  saw  fit  to 
remonstrate  with  the  woman,  pleading  for  for 
giveness  with  his  eyes.  She  thought  she 
noted  an.  air  of  submission  about  her  leonine 
Pete.  She  was  astounded. 

The  mere  boy  occupied  himself  with  cock 
tails  and  a  cigar.  He  was  tranquilly  silent  for 
half  an  hour.  Then  he  bestirred  himself  and 
spoke. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  sighing,  "  I  knew  this  was 
the  way  it  would  be.  They  got  cold  feet." 
There  was  another  stillness.  The  mere  boy 
seemed  to  be  musing. 

"  She  was  pulling  m'leg.     That's  the  whole 


MAGGIE.  121 

amount  of  it,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "  It's 
a  bloomin'  shame  the  way  that  girl  does. 
Why,  I've  spent  over  two  dollars  in  drinks 
to-night.  And  she  goes  off  with  that  plug- 
ugly  who  looks  as  if  he  had  been  hit  in 
the  face  with  a  coin  die.  I  call  it  rocky 
treatment  for  a  fellah  like  me.  Here, 
waiter,  bring  me  a  cocktail,  and  make  it 
strong.  ' 

Maggie  made  no  reply.  She  was  watching 
the  doors.  "  It's  a  mean  piece  of  business," 
complained  the  mere  boy.  He  explained  to 
her  how  amazing  it  was  that  anybody  should 
treat  him  in  such  a  manner.  "  But  I'll  get 
square  with  her,  you  bet.  She  won't  get  far 
ahead  of  yours  truly,  you  know,"  he  added, 
winking.  "  I'll  tell  her  plainly  that  it  was 
bloomin'  mean  business.  And  she  won't  come 
it  over  me  with  any  of  her  '  now-Freddie- 
dears.'  She  thinks  my  name  is  Freddie,  you 
know,  but  of  course  it  ain't.  I  always  tell 
these  people  some  name  like  that,  because  if 
they  got  onto  your  right  name  they  might  use 


122  MAGGIE. 

it  sometime.  Understand  ?  Oh,  they  don't 
fool  me  much." 

Maggie  was  paying  no  attention,  being 
intent  upon  the  doors.  The  mere  boy  re 
lapsed  into  a  period  of  gloom,  during 
which  he  exterminated  a  number  of  cock 
tails  with  a  determined  air,  as  if  replying 
defiantly  to  fate.  He  occasionally  broke 
forth  into  sentences  composed  of  invectives 
joined  together  in  a  long  chain. 

The  girl  was  still  staring  at  the  doors. 
After  a  time  the  mere  boy  began  to  see 
cobwebs  just  in  front  of  his  nose.  He 
spurred  himself  into  being  agreeable  and 
insisted  upon  her  having  a  charlotte  russe 
and  a  glass  of  beer. 

"  They's  gone,"  he  remarked,  "  they's 
gone."  He  looked  at  her  through  the 
smoke  wreaths.  "  Shay,  Hi'  girl,  we  might- 
ish  well  make  bes'  of  it.  You  ain't  such 
bad-lookin'  girl,  y'know.  Not  half  bad. 
Can't  come  up  to  Nell,  though.  No,  can't 
do  it!  Well,  I  should  shay  not!  Nell  fine- 


MAGGIE. 


123 


lookin'  girl !  F — i — n — inc.  You  look  bad 
longsider  her,  but  by  y'self  ain't  so  bad. 
Have  to  do  anyhow.  Nell  gone.  O'ny  you 
left.  Not  half  bad,  though." 

Maggie  stood  up. 

"  I'm  going  home,"  she  said. 

The  mere  boy  started. 

"  Eh  ?  What  ?  Home,"  he  cried,  struck 
with  amazement.  "  I  beg  pardon,  did  hear 
say  home  ?  " 

"I'm  going  home,"  she  repeated. 

"  Great  heavens !  what  hav'a  struck  ?  "  de 
manded  the  mere  boy  of  himself,  stupefied. 

In  a  semicomatose  state  he  conducted 
her  on  board  an  up-town  car,  ostentatiously 
paid  her  fare,  leered  kindly  at  her  through 
the  rear  window,  and  fell  off  the  steps. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  FORLORN  woman  went  along  a  lighted 
avenue.  The  street  was  filled  with  people 
desperately  bound  on  missions.  An  endless 
crowd  darted  at  the  elevated  station  stairs, 
and  the  horse  cars  were  thronged  with 
owners  of  bundles. 

The  pace  of  the  forlorn  woman  was  slow. 
She  was  apparently  searching  for  some  one. 
She  loitered  near  the  doors  of  saloons  and 
watched  men  emerge  from  them.  She 
furtively  scanned  the  faces  in  the  rushing 
stream  of  pedestrians.  Hurrying  men,  bent 
on  catching  some  boat  or  train,  jostled  her 
elbows,  failing  to  notice  her,  their  thoughts 
fixed  on  distant  dinners. 

The  forlorn  woman   had   a  peculiar  face. 

Her  smile  was  no   smile.     But   when   in  re- 
124 


MAGGIE.  125 

pose  her  features  had  a  shadowy  look  that 
was  like  a  sardonic  grin,  as  if  some  one  had 
sketched  with  cruel  forefinger  indelible  lines 
about  her  mouth. 

Jimmie  came  strolling  up  the  avenue. 
The  woman  encountered  him  with  an 
aggrieved  air. 

"  Oh,  Jimmie,  I've  been  lookin'  all  over 
fer  yehs "she  began. 

Jimmie  made  an  impatient  gesture  and 
quickened  his  pace. 

"  Ah,  don't  bodder  me !  "  he  said,  with 
the  savageness  of  a  man  whose  life  is  pes 
tered. 

The  woman  followed  him  along  the  side 
walk  in  somewhat  the  manner  of  a  sup 
pliant. 

"But,  Jimmie,"  she  said,  "yehs  told  me 
ye'd " 

Jimmie  turned  upon  her  fiercely  as  if  re 
solved  to  make  a  last  stand  for  comfort 
and  peace. 

"  Say,    Hattie,    don'   foller    me    from   one 


126  MAGGIE. 

end  of  deh  city  teh  deh  odder.  Let  up, 
will  yehs !  Give  me  a  minute's  res',  can't 
yehs  ?  Yehs  makes  me  tired,  allus  taggin* 
me.  See  ?  Am'  yehs  got  no  sense  ?  Do 
yehs  want  people  teh  get  onto  me  ?  Go 
chase  yerself." 

The  woman  stepped  closer  and  laid  her 
fingers  on  his  arm.  "  But,  look-a  here— 

Jimmie  snarled.     "  Oh,  go  teh  blazes." 

He  darted  into  the  front  door  of  a  con 
venient  saloon  and  a  moment  later  came 
out  into  the  shadows  that  surrounded  the 
side  door.  On  the  brilliantly  lighted  avenue 
he  perceived  the  forlorn  woman  dodging 
about  like  a  scout.  Jimmie  laughed  with 
an  air  of  relief  and  went  away. 

When  he  arrived  home  he  found  his 
mother  clamouring.  Maggie  had  returned. 
She  stood  shivering  beneath  the  torrent  of 
her  mother's  wrath. 

"  Well,  I'm  d — d  !  "  said  Jimmie  in  greeting. 

His  mother,  tottering  about  the  room, 
pointed  a  quivering  forefinger. 


MAGGIE.  127 

"  Lookut  her,  Jimmie,  lookut  her.  Dere's 
yer  sister,  boy.  Dere's  yer  sister.  Lookut 
her  !  Lookut  her  !  " 

She  screamed  at  Maggie  with  scoffing 
laughter. 

The  girl  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
She  edged  about  as  if  unable  to  find  a  place 
on  the  floor  to  put  her  feet. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha ! "  bellowed  the  mother. 
"  Dere  she  stands  !  Ain'  she  purty  ?  Look 
ut  her  !  Ain'  she  sweet,  deh  beast  ?  Look 
ut  her!  Ha,  ha!  lookut  her!" 

She  lurched  forward  and  put  her  red 
and  seamed  hands  upon  her  daughter's  face. 
She  bent  down  and  peered  keenly  up  into 
the  eyes  of  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  she's  jes'  dessame  as  she  ever  was, 
ain'  she  ?  She's  her  mudder's  putty  darlin' 
yit,  ain'  she  ?  Lookut  her,  Jimmie  !  Come 
here  and  lookut  her." 

The  loud,  tremendous  railing  of  the 
mother  brought  the  denizens  of  the  Rum 
Alley  tenement  to  their  doors.  Women 


128  MAGGIE. 

came  in  the  hallways.  Children  scurried  to 
and  fro. 

"  What's  up  ?  Dat  Johnson  party  on  anud- 
der  tear?" 

"  Naw !     Young  Mag's  come  home !  " 

"  Git  out !  " 

Through  the  open  doors  curious  eyes 
stared  in  at  Maggie.  Children  ventured  into 
the  room  and  ogled  her,  as  if  they  formed  the 
front  row  at  a  theatre.  Women,  without, 
bent  toward  each  other  and  whispered,  nod 
ding  their  heads  with  airs  of  profound  phi 
losophy. 

A  baby,  overcome  with  curiosity  concern 
ing  this  object  at  which  all  were  looking, 
sidled  forward  and  touched  her  dress,  cau 
tiously,  as  if  investigating  a  red  -  hot  stove. 
Its  mother's  voice  rang  out  like  a  warning 
trumpet.  She  rushed  forward  and  grabbed 
'  her  child,  casting  a  terrible  look  of  indigna 
tion  at  the  girl. 

Maggie's  mother  paced  to  and  fro,  ad 
dressing  the  doorful  of  eyes,  expounding  like 


MAGGIE. 


I29 


a  glib  showman.  Her  voice  rang  through  the 
building. 

"  Dere  she  stands,"  she  cried,  wheeling 
suddenly  and  pointing  with  dramatic  finger. 
"  Dere  she  stands !  Lookut  her  !  Ain'  she  a 
dindy?  An'  she  was  so  good  as  to  come 
home  teh  her  mudder,  she  was !  Ain'  she  a 
beaut'  ?  Ain'  she  a  dindy  ?  " 

The  jeering  cries  ended  in  another  burst  of 
shrill  laughter. 

The  girl  seemed  to  awaken.  "  Jim- 
mie " 

He  drew  hastily  back  from  her. 

"Well,  now,  yer  a  t'ing,  ain'  yeh?"  he 
said,  his  lips  curling  in  scorn.  Radiant  virtue 
sat  upon  his  brow  and  his  repelling  hands  ex 
pressed  horror  of  contamination. 

Maggie  turned  and  went. 

The  crowd  at  the  door  fell  back  precipitate 
ly.  A  baby  falling  down  in  front  of  the  door 
wrenched  a  scream  like  that  of  a  wounded 
animal  from  its  mother.  Another  woman 
sprang  forward  and  picked  it  up  with  a 


130  MAGGIE. 

chivalrous  air,  as  if  rescuing  a  human  being 
from  an  oncoming  express  train.. 

As  the  girl  passed  down  through  the  hall, 
she  went  before  open  doors  framing  more 
eyes  strangely  microscopic,  and  sending  broad  * 
beams  of  inquisitive  light  into  the  darkness  of 
her  path.  On  the  second  floor  she  met  the 
gnarled  old  woman  who  possessed  the  music 
box. 

"  So,"  she  cried,  "  'ere  yehs  are  back  again, 
are  yehs?  An'  dey've  kicked  yehs  out? 
Well,  come  in  an'  stay  wid  me  t'-night.  I 
ain'  got  no  moral  standin'." 

From  above  came  an  unceasing  babble  of 
tongues,  over  all  of  which  rang  the  mother's 
derisive  laughter. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

PETE  did  not  consider  that  he  had  ruined 
Maggie.  If  he  had  thought  that  her  soul 
could  never  smile  again,  he  would  have  be 
lieved  the  mother  and  brother,  who  were  py 
rotechnic  over  the  affair,  to  be  responsible 
for  it. 

Besides,  in  his  world,  souls  did  not  insist 
upon  being  able  to  smile.  "  What  d'  h — 1  ?  " 

He  felt  a  trifle  entangled.  It  distressed 
him.  Revelations  and  scenes  might  bring 
upon  him  the  wrath  of  the  owner  of  the  sa 
loon,  who  insisted  upon  respectability  of  an 
advanced  type. 

"  What  do  dey  wanna*  raise  such  a  smoke 
about  it  fer?"  demanded  he  of  himself,  dis 
gusted  with  the  attitude  of  the  family.  He 

saw   no    necessity    that    people    should    lose 
131 


132 


MAGGIE. 


their  equilibrium  merely  because  their  sister 
or  their  daughter  had  stayed  away  from 
home. 

Searching  about  in  his  mind  for  possible 
reasons  for  their  conduct,  he  came  upon  the 
conclusion  that  Maggie's  motives  were  cor 
rect,  but  that  the  two  others  wished  to  snare 
him.  He  felt  pursued. 

The  woman  whom  he  had  met  in  the  hi 
larious  hall  showed  a  disposition  to  ridicule 
him. 

"A  little  pale  thing  with  no  spirit,"  she 
said.  "  Did  you  note  the  expression  of  her 
eyes?  There  was  something  in  them  about 
pumpkin  pie  and  virtue.  That  is  a  peculiar 
way  the  left  corner  of  her  mouth  has  of 
twitching,  isn't  it  ?  Dear,  dear,  Pete,  what  are 
you  coming  to  ?  " 

Pete  asserted  at  once  that  he  never  was 
very  much  interested  in  the  girl.  The  woman 
interrupted  him,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  it's  not  of  the  slightest  consequence 
to  me,  my  dear  young  man.  You  needn't 


MAGGIE.  !33 

draw  maps  for  my  benefit.  Why  should  I  be 
concerned  about  it?" 

But  Pete  continued  with  his  explana 
tions.  If  he  was  laughed  at  for  his 
tastes  in  women,  he  felt  obliged  to  say 
that  they  were  only  temporary  or  indiffer 
ent  ones. 

The  morning  after  Maggie  had  departed 
from  home,  Pete  stood  behind  the  bar.  He 
was  immaculate  in  white  jacket  and  apron 
and  his  hair  was  plastered  over  his  brow 
with  infinite  correctness.  No  customers 
were  in  the  place.  Pete  was  twisting  his 
napkined  fist  slowly  in  a  beer  glass,  softly 
whistling  to  himself  and  occasionally  hold 
ing  the  object  of  his  attention  between  his 
eyes  and  a  few  weak  beams  of  sunlight 
that  found  their  way  over  the  thick  screens 
and  into  the  shaded  rooms. 

With  lingering  thoughts  of  the  woman 
of  brilliance  and  audacity,  the  bartender 
raised  his  head  and  stared  through  the 
varying  cracks  between  the  swaying  bam- 


134  MAGGIE. 

boo  doors.  Suddenly  the  whistling-  pucker 
faded  from  his  lips.  He  saw  Maggie  walk 
ing  slowly  past.  He  gave  a  great  start, 
fearing  for  the  previously  mentioned  eminent 

•i 

respectability  of  the  place. 

He  threw  a  swift,  nervous  glance  about 
him,  all  at  once  feeling  guilty.  No  one 
was  in  the  room.  , 

He  went  hastily  over  to  the  side  door. 
Opening  it  and  looking  out,  he  perceived 
Maggie  standing,  as  if  undecided,  on  the 
corner.  She  was  searching  the  place  with 
her  eyes. 

As  she  turned  her  face  toward  him  Pete 
beckoned  to  her  hurriedly,  intent  upon  re 
turning  with  speed  to  a  position  behind 
the  bar  and  to  the  atmosphere  of  re 
spectability  upon  which  the  proprietor  in 
sisted. 

Maggie  came  to  him,  the  anxious  look 
disappearing  from  her  face  and  a  smile 
wreathing  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  Pete ,"  she  began  brightly. 


MAGGIE. 


135 


The  bartender  made  a  violent  gesture  of 
impatience. 

"  Oh,  say ! "  cried  he,  vehemently. 
"  What  d'  yeh  wanna  hang  aroun'  here 
fer?  Do  yer  wanna  git  me  inteh  trouble?" 
he  demanded  with  an  air  of  injury. 

Astonishment  swept  over  the  girl's  fea 
tures.  "  Why,  Pete  !  yehs  tol'  me — 

Pete's  glance  expressed  profound  irrita 
tion.  His  countenance  reddened  with  the 
anger  of  a  man  whose  respectability  is  be 
ing  threatened. 

"  Say,  yehs  makes  me  tired  !  See?  What 
d'  yeh  wanna  tag  aroun'  atter  me  fer? 
Yeh'll  do  me  dirt  wid  d'  ol'  man  an'  dey'll 
be  trouble  !  If  he  sees  a  woman  roun'  here 
he'll  go  crazy  an'  I'll  lose  me  job !  See  ? 
Ain'  yehs  got  no  sense  ?  Don'  be  allus  bod- 
derin'  me.  See  ?  Yer  bijudder  come  in  here 
an*  made  trouble  an'  d'  ol'  man  hada  put  up 
fer  it!  An' now  I'm  done  !  See?  I'm  done." 

The  girl's  eyes  stared  into  his  face. 
"  Pete,  don't  yeh  remem " 


136  MAGGIE. 

"  Oh,  go  ahn ! "  interrupted  Pete,  antici 
pating. 

The  girl  seemed  to  have  a  struggle  with 
herself.  She  was  apparently  bewildered  and 
could  not  find  speech.  Finally  she  asked 
in  a  low  voice,  "  But  where  kin  I  go  ?  " 

The  question  exasperated  Pete  beyond 
the  powers  of  endurance.  It  was  a  direct 
attempt  to  give  him  some  responsibility  in 
a  matter  that  did  not  concern  him.  In 
his  indignation  he  volunteered  informa 
tion. 

"  Oh,  go  t'  h— 11 ! "  cried  he.  He  slammed 
the  door  furiously  and  returned,  with  an 
air  of  relief,  to  his  respectability. 

Maggie  went  away. 

She  wandered  aimlessly  for  several 
blocks.  She  stopped  once  and  asked  aloud 
a  question  of  herself  :  "  Who  ?  " 

A  man  who  was  passing  near  her  shoul 
der,  humorously  took  the  questioning  word 
as  intended  for  him. 

"Eh?   What?   Who?   Nobody!     I    didn't 


MAGGIE.  137 

say  anything,"  he  laughingly  said,  and  con 
tinued  his  way. 

Soon  the  girl  discovered  that  if  she 
walked  with  such  apparent  aimlessness, 
some  men  looked  at  her  with  calculating 
eyes.  She  quickened  her  step,  frightened. 
As  a  protection,  she  adopted  a  demeanour 
of  intentness  as  if  going  somewhere. 

After  a  time  she  left  rattling  avenues  and 
passed  between  rows  of  houses  with  stern 
ness  and  stolidity  stamped  upon  their  fea 
tures.  She  hung  her  head,  for  she  felt  their 
eyes  grimly  upon  her. 

Suddenly  she  came  upon  a  stout  gentle 
man  in  a  silk  hat  and  a  chaste  black  coat, 
whose  decorous  row  of  buttons  reached 
from  his  chin  to  his  knees.  The  girl  had 
heard  of  the  grace  of  God  and  she  de 
cided  to  approach  this  man. 

His  beaming,  chubby  face  was  a  picture 
of  benevolence  and  kind-heartedness.  His 
eyes  shone  good  will. 

But  as  the  girl  timidly  accosted  him,  he 


MAGGIE. 

made  a  convulsive  movement  and  saved 
his  respectability  by  a  vigorous  side  step. 
He  did  not  risk  it  to  save  a  soul.  For 
how  was  he  to  know  that  there  was  a  soul 
before  him  that  needed  saving? 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

UPON  a  wet  evening,  several  months  after 
the  last  chapter,  two  interminable  rows  of 
cars,  pulled  by  slipping  horses,  jangled  along 
a  prominent  side  street.  A  dozen  cabs,  with 
coat-enshrouded  drivers,  clattered  to  and  fro. 
Electric  lights,  whirring  softly,  shed  a  blurred 
radiance.  A  flower  dealer,  his  feet  tapping 
impatiently,  his  nose  and  his  wares  glisten 
ing  with  raindrops,  stood  behind  an  array  of 
roses  and  chrysanthemums.  Two  or  three 
theatres  emptied  a  crowd  upon  the  storm- 
swept  pavements.  Men  pulled  their  hats 
over  their  eyebrows  and  raised  their  collars 
to  their  ears.  Women  shrugged  impatient 
shoulders  in  their  warm  cloaks  and  stopped 
to  arrange  their  skirts  for  a  walk  through  the 

storm.     People  who  had  been  constrained  to 
10  139 


I40  MAGGIE. 

comparative  silence  for  two  hours  burst  into 
a  roar  of  conversation,  their  hearts  still  kind 
ling  from  the  glowings  of  the  stage. 

The  pavements  became  tossing  seas  of  um 
brellas.  Men  stepped  forth  to  hail  cabs  or 
cars,  raising  their  fingers  in  varied  forms  of 
polite  request  or  imperative  demand.  An 
endless  procession  wended  toward  elevated 
stations.  An  atmosphere  of  pleasure  and 
prosperity  seemed  to  hang  over  the  throng, 
born,  perhaps,  of  good  clothes  and  of  two 
hours  in  a  place  of  forgetftilness. 

In  the  mingled  light  and  gloom  of  an  ad 
jacent  park,  a  handful  of  wet  wanderers,  in 
attitudes  of  chronic  dejection,  were  scattered 
among  the  benches. 

A  girl  of  the  painted  cohorts  of  the  city 
went  along  the  street.  She  threw  changing 
glances  at  men  who  passed  her,  giving  smil 
ing  invitations  to  those  of  rural  or  untaught 
pattern  and  usually  seeming  sedately  uncon 
scious  of  the  men  with  a  metropolitan  seal 
upon  their  faces. 


MAGGIE. 


141 


Crossing  glittering  avenues,  she  went  into 
the  throng  emerging  from  the  places  of  for- 
getfulness.  She  hurried  forward  through  the 
crowd  as  if  intent  upon  reaching  a  distant 
home,  bending  forward  in  her  handsome 
cloak,  daintily  lifting  her  skirts,  and  picking 
for  her  well-shod  feet  the  dryer  spots  upon  the 
pavements. 

The  restless  doors  of  saloons,  clashing  to 
and  fro,  disclosed  animated  rows  of  men  be 
fore  bars  and  hurrying  barkeepers. 

A  concert  hall  gave  to  the  street  faint 
sounds  of  swift,  machine-like  music,  as  if  a 
group  of  phantom  musicians  were  hastening. 

A  tall  young  man,  smoking  a  cigarette 
with  a  sublime  air,  strolled  near  the  girl.  He 
had  on  evening  dress,  a  mustache,  a  chrysan 
themum,  and  a  look  of  ennui,  all  of  which  he 
kept  carefully  under  his  eye.  Seeing  the  girl 
walk  on  as  if  such  a  young  man  as  he  was  not 
in  existence,  he  looked  back  transfixed  with 
interest.  He  stared  glassily  for  a  moment, 
but  gave  a  slight  convulsive  start  when  he  dis- 


142  MAGGIE. 

ccrned  that  she  was  neither  new,  Parisian,  nor 
theatrical.  He  wheeled  about  hastily  and 
turned  his  stare  into  the  air,  like  a  sailor  with 
a  search  light. 

A  stout  gentleman,  with  pompous  and 
philanthropic  whiskers,  went  stolidly  by,  the 
broad  of  his  back  sneering  at  the  girl. 

A  belated  man  in  business  clothes,  and  in 
haste  to  catch  a  car,  bounced  against  her 
shoulder.  "  Hi,  there,  Mary,  I  beg  your  par 
don  !  Brace  up,  old  girl."  He  grasped  her 
arm  to  steady  her,  and  then  was  away  run 
ning  down  the  middle  of  the  street. 

The  girl  walked  on  out  of  the  realm  of 
restaurants  and  saloons.  She  passed  more 
glittering  avenues  and  went  into  darker 
blocks  than  those  where  the  crowd  travelled. 

A  young  man  in  light  overcoat  and  derby 
hat  received  a  glance  shot  keenly  from  the 
eyes  of  the  girl.  He  stopped  and  looked  at 
her,  thrusting  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
making  a  mocking  smile  curl  his  lips. 
"  Come,  now,  old  lady,"  he  said,  4<  you  don't 


MAGGIE. 


143 


mean  to  tell  me  that  you  sized  me  up  for  a 
farmer?" 

A  labouring  man  marched  along  with  bun 
dles  under  his  arms.  To  her  remarks,  he  re 
plied,  "  It's  a  fine  evenin',  ain't  it?" 

She  smiled  squarely  into  the  face  of  a  boy 
who  was  hurrying  by  with  his  hands  buried  in 
his  overcoat  pockets,  his  blonde  locks  bobbing 
on  his  youthful  temples,  and  a  cheery  smile  of 
unconcern  upon  his  lips.  He  turned  his  head 
and  smiled  back  at  her,  waving  his  hands. 

"  Not  this  eve — some  other  eve !  " 

A  drunken  man,  reeling  in  her  pathway, 
began  to  roar  at  her.  "  I  ain'  ga  no  money  !  " 
he  shouted,  in  a  dismal  voice.  He  lurched  on 
up  the  street,  wailing  to  himself :  "  I  ain'  ga  no 
money.  Ba'  luck.  Ain'  ga  no  more  money." 

The  girl  went  into  gloomy  districts  near 
the  river,  where  the  tall  black  factories  shut 
in  the  street  and  only  occasional  broad  beams 
of  light  fell  across  the  pavements  from  sa 
loons.  In  front  of  one  of  these  places,  whence 
came  the  sound  of  a  violin  vigorously  scraped, 


144  MAGGIE. 

the  patter  of  feet  on  boards  and  the  ring  of 
loud  laughter,  there  stood  a  man  with  blotched 
features. 

Further  on  in  the  darkness  she  met  a 
ragged  being  with  shifting,  bloodshot  eyes 
and  grimy  hands. 

She  went  into  the  blackness  of  the  final 
block.  The  shutters  of  the  tall  buildings  were 
closed  like  grim  lips.  The  structures  seemed 
to  have  eyes  that  looked  over  them,  beyond 
them,  at  other  things.  Afar  off  the  lights  of 
the  avenues  glittered  as  if  from  an  impossible 
distance.  Street-car  bells  jingled  with  a  sound 
of  merriment. 

At  the  feet  of  the  tall  buildings  appeared 
the  deathly  black  hue  of  the  river.  Some 
hidden  factory  sent  up  a  yellow  glare,  that 
lit  for  a  moment  the  waters  lapping  oilily 
against  timbers.  The  varied  sounds  of  life, 
made  joyous  by  distance  and  seeming  unap- 
proachabfeness,  came  faintly  and  died  away  to 
a  silence. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

IN  a  partitioned-off  section  of  a  saloon 
sat  a  man  with  a  half  dozen  women,  glee 
fully  laughing,  hovering  about  him.  The 
man  had  arrived  at  that  stage  of  drunken 
ness  where  affection  is  felt  for  the  universe. 

"  I'm  good  fler,  girls,"  he  said,  convinc 
ingly.  "  I'm  good  fler.  An'body  treats  me 
right,  I  allus  trea's  zem  right !  See  ?  " 

The  women  nodded  their  heads  approv 
ingly.  "To  be  sure,"  they  cried  in  hearty 
chorus.  "  You're  the  kind  of  a  man  we 
like,  Pete.  You're  outa  sight !  What  yeh 
goin'  to  buy  this  time,  dear  ?  " 

"  An't'ing  yehs   wants !  "   said   the   man   in 
an  abandonment  of  good  will.      His  counte 
nance  shone  with  the  true  spirit  of  benevo 
lence.      He  .  was    in    the     proper     mood    of 
145 


146  MAGGIE. 

missionaries.  He  would  have  fraternized 
with  obscure  Hottentots.  And  above  all, 
he  was  overwhelmed  in  tenderness  for  his 
friends,  who  were  all  illustrious. 

"  An't'ing  yehs  wants ! "  repeated  he, 
waving  his  hands  with  beneficent  reckless 
ness.  "  I'm  good  f'ler,  girls,  an'  if  an'body 
treats  me  right  I — here,"  called  he  through 
an  open  door  to  a  waiter,  "  bring  girls 
drinks.  What  'ill  yehs  have,  girls?  An'- 
t'ing  yehs  want." 

The  waiter  glanced  in  with  the  disgusted 
look  of  the  man  who  serves  intoxicants  for 
the  man  who  takes  too  much  of  them. 
H€  nodded  his  head  shortly  at  the  order 
from  each  individual,  and  went. 

"  Wre  havin*  great  time,"  said  the  man. 
"  I  like  you  girls !  Yer  right  sort !  See  ?  " 

He  spoke  at  length  and  with  feeling  con 
cerning  the  excellencies  of  his  assembled 
friends. 

"  Don*  try  pull  man's  leg,  but  have  a 
good  time !  Das  right !  Das  way  ten  do  ! 


MAGGIE.  147 

Now,  if  I  sawght  yehs  tryin'  work  me  fer 
drinks,  wouldn'  buy  not'ing !  But  yer  right 
sort !  Yehs  know  how  ter  treat  a  f'ler,  an* 
I  stays  by  yehs  'til  spen'  las'  cent !  Das 
right !  I'm  good  f'ler  an'  I  knows  when 
an' body  treats  me  right !  " 

Between  the  times  of  the  arrival  and  de 
parture  of  the  waiter,  the  man  discoursed 
to  the  women  on  the  tender  regard  he 
felt  for  all  living  things.  He  laid  stress 
upon  the  purity  of  his  motives  in  all  deal 
ings  with  men  in  the  world  and  spoke  of 
the  fervour  of  his  friendship  for  those  who 
were  amiable.  Tears  welled  slowly  from 
his  eyes.  His  voice  quavered  when  he 
spoke  to  his  companions. 

Once  when  the  waiter  was  about  to  de 
part  with  an  empty  tray,  the  man  drew  a 
coin  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  forth. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  quite  magnificently, 
"here's  quar'." 

The  waiter  kept  his  hands  on  his  tray. 

"  I  don't  want  yer  money,"  he  said. 


148  MAGGIE. 

The  other  put  forth  the  coin  with  tearful 
insistence. 

"Here's  quar' !  "  cried  he,  "  tak't !  Yer 
goo'  f ' ler  an'  I  wan'  yehs  tak't !  " 

"  Come,  come,  now,"  said  the  waiter,  with 
the  sullen  air  of  a  man  who  is  forced  into 
giving  advice.  "  Put  yer  mon  in  yer 
pocket !  Yer  loaded  an'  yehs  on'y  makes 
a  fool  of  yerself." 

As  the  latter  passed  out  of  the  door  the 
man  turned  pathetically  to  the  women. 

"  He  don'  know  I'm  goo'  f'ler,"  cried  he, 
dismally. 

"  Never  you  mind,  Pete,  dear,"  said  the 
woman  of  brilliance  and  audacity,  laying 
her  hand  with  great  affection  upon  his  arm. 
"  Never  you  mind,  old  boy  !  We'll  stay  by 
you,  dear !  " 

"  Das  ri' ! "  cried  the  man,  his  face  light 
ing  up  at  the  soothing  tones  of  the 
woman's  voice.  "  Das  ri' ;  I'm  goo'  f'ler  an' 
w'en  any  one  trea's  me  ri',  I  trea's  zem  ri' ! 
Shee?" 


MAGGIE. 

"Sure!"  cried  the  women.  "And  we're 
not  goin'  back  on  you,  old  man." 

The  man  turned  appealing  eyes  to  the 
woman.  He  felt  that  if  he  could  be  con 
victed  of  a  contemptible  action  he  would  die. 

"  Shay,  Nell,  I  allus  trea's  yehs  shquare, 
didn'  I?  I  allus  been  goo'  Her  wi'  yehs, 
ain't  I,  Nell?" 

"Sure  you  have,  Pete,"  assented  the 
woman.  She  delivered  an  oration  to  her 
companions.  "  Yessir,  that's  a  fact.  Pete's 
a  square  fellah,  he  is.  He  never  goes  back 
on  a  friend.  He's  the  right  kind  an'  we 
stay  by  him,  don't  we,  girls  ?  " 

"  Sure  !  "  they  exclaimed.  Looking  lov 
ingly  at  him  they  raised  their  glasses  and 
drank  his  health. 

"  Girlsh,"  said  the  man,  beseechingly,  "  I 
allus  trea's  yehs  ri',  didn'  I?  I'm  goo'  fler, 
ain'  I,  girlsh  ?  " 

"  Sure  !  "  again  they  chorused. 

"Well,"  said  he  finally,  "le's  have  nozzer 
drink,  zen." 


150 


MAGGIE. 


"That's  right,"  hailed  a  woman,  "that's 
right.  Yer  no  bloomin'  jay  !  Yer  spends 
yer  money  like  a  man.  Dat's  right." 

The  man  pounded  the  table  with  his 
quivering  fists. 

"  Yessir,"  he  cried,  with  deep  earnestness, 
as  if  someone  disputed  him.  "  I'm  goo'  f'ler, 
an'  w'en  any  one  trea's  me  ri',  I  allus  trea's 
— le's  have  nozzer  drink." 

He  began  to  beat  the  wood  with  his 
glass. 

"  Shay !  "  howled  he,  growing  suddenly 
impatient.  As  the  waiter  did  not  then 
come,  the  man  swelled  with  wrath. 

"  Shay!"  'howled  he  again. 

The  waiter  appeared  at  the  door. 

"  Bringsh  drinksh,"  said  the  man. 

The  waiter   disappeared  with   the  orders. 

"  Zat  f'ler  fool !  "  cried  the  man.  "  He 
insul*  me !  I'm  ge'man !  Can*  stan'  be  in- 
sul' !  I'm  goin'  lickim  when  comes  !  " 

»  "  No,  no ! "    cried    the    women,  crowding 
about  and    trying  to    subdue    him.      "  He's 


MAGGIE.  !$! 

all  right !  He  didn't  mean  anything !  Let 
it  go  !  He's  a  good  fellah  !  " 

"  Din'  he  insul'  me  ? "  asked  the  man 
earnestly. 

"  No,"  said  they.  "  Of  course  he  didn't ! 
He's  all  right ! " 

"  Sure  he  didn'  insul'  me  ?  "  demanded  the 
man,  with  deep  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

"  No,  no  !  We  know  him  !  He's  a  good 
fellah.  He  didn't  mean  anything." 

"  Well,  zen,"  said  the  man,  resolutely, 
"  I'm  go'  'pol'gize  !  " 

When  the  waiter  came,  the  man  struggled 
to  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  Girlsh  shed  you  insul'  me  !  I  shay 

lie!  I  'pol'gize!" 

"All  right,"  said  the  waiter. 

The  man  sat  down.  He  felt  a  sleepy  but 
strong  desire  to  straighten  things  out  and 
have  a  perfect  understanding  with  everybody. 

"  Nell,  I  allus  trea's  yeh  shquare,  din*  I  ? 
Yeh  likes  me,  don'  yehs,  Nell  ?  I'm  goo' 
Her?" 


152  MAGGIE. 

"  Sure  !  "  said  the  woman. 

"Yeh  knows  I'm  stuck  on  yehs,  don* 
yehs,  Nell?" 

"  Sure  !  "  she  repeated,  carelessly. 

Overwhelmed  by  a  spasm  of  drunken 
adoration,  he  drew  two  or  three  bills  from 
his  pocket,  and  with  the  trembling  fingers 
of  an  offering  priest,  laid  them  on  the  table 
before  the  woman. 

"  Yehs  knows  yehs  kin  have  all  I  got, 
'cause  I'm  stuck  on  yehs,  Nell,  I — I'm 
stuck  on  yehs,  Nell — buy  drinksh — we're 
havin*  great  time  —  w'en  any  one  trea's 
me  ri'  —  I  —  Nell  —  we're  havin'  heluva  — 
time." 

Presently  he  went  to  sleep  with  his 
swollen  face  fallen  forward  on  his  chest. 

The  women  drank  and  laughed,  not  heed 
ing  the  slumbering  man  in  the  corner. 
Finally  he  lurched  forward  and  fell  groan 
ing  to  the  floor. 

The  women  screamed  in  disgust  and  drew 
back  their  skirts. 


MAGGIE. 

"  Come  ahn !  "  cried  one,  starting  up  an 
grily,  "  let's  get  out  of  here/' 

The  woman  of  brilliance  and  audacity 
stayed  behind,  taking  up  the  bills  and  stuffing 
them  into  a  deep,  irregularly  shaped  pocket. 
A  guttural  snore  from  the  recumbent  man 
caused  her  to  turn  and  look  down  at  him. 

She  laughed.  "What  a  fool!"  she  said, 
and  went. 

The  smoke  from  the  lamps  settled  heavily 
down  in  the  little  compartment,  obscuring  the 
way  out.  The  smell  of  oil,  stifling  in  its  inten 
sity,  pervaded  the  air.  The  wine  from  an 
overturned  glass  dripped  softly  down  upon 
the  blotches  on  the  man's  neck. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IN  a  room  a  woman  sat  at  a  table  eating 
like  a  fat  monk  in  a  picture. 

A  soiled,  unshaven  man  pushed  open  the 
door  and  entered. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  Mag's  dead." 

"  What?"  said  the  woman,  her  mouth  filled 
with  bread. 

"  Mag's  dead,"  repeated  the  man. 

"Deh  blazes  she  is!"  said  the  woman.  She 
continued  her  meal.  When  she  finished  her 
coffee  she  began  to  weep. 

"  I  kin  remember  when  her  two  feet  was 
no  bigger  dan  yer  tumb,  and  she  weared 
worsted  boots,"  moaned  she. 

"Well,  whata  dat?"  said  the  man. 

"  I  kin  remember  when  she  weared 
worsted  boots,"  she  cried. 


MAGGIE. 


155 


The  neighbours  began  to  gather  in  the 
hall,  staring  in  at  the  weeping  woman  as  if 
watching  the  contortions  of  a  dying  dog.  A 
dozen  women  entered  and  lamented  with  her. 
Under  their  busy  hands  the  rooms  took  on 
that  appalling  appearance  of  neatness  and  or 
der  with  which  death  is  greeted. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened  and  a  woman  in 
a  black  gown  rushed  in  with  outstretched 
arms.  "  Ah,  poor  Mary  !  "  she  cried,  and  ten 
derly  embraced  the  moaning  one. 

"  Ah,  what  ter'ble  affliction  is  dis  !  "  con 
tinued  she.  Her  vocabulary  was  derived 
from  mission  churches.  "  Me  poor  Mary, 
how  I  feel  fer  yehs !  Ah,  what  a  ter'ble  afflic 
tion  is  a  disobed'ent  chile." 

Her  good,  motherly  face  was  wet  with 
tears.  She  trembled  in  eagerness  to  express 
her  sympathy.  The  mourner  sat  with  bowed 
head,  rocking  her  body  heavily  to  and  fro, 
and  crying  out  in  a  high,  strained  voice  that 
sounded  like  a  dirge  on  some  forlorn  pipe. 

"  I     kin     remember     when     she     weared 


ii 


156 


MAGGIE. 


worsted  boots  an'  her  two  feets  was  no  bigger 
dan  yer  tumb  an'  she  weared  worsted  boots, 
Miss  Smith,"  she  cried,  raising  her  streaming 
eyes. 

"  Ah,  me  poor  Mary  !"  sobbed  the  woman 
in  black.  With  low,  coddling  cries,  she  sank 
on  her  knees  by  the  mourner's  chair,  and  put 
her  arms  about  her.  The  other  women  began 
to  groan  in  different  keys. 

"  Yer  poor  misguided  chil'  is  gone  now, 
Mary,  an'  let  us  hope  its  fer  deh  bes'.  Yeh'll 
fergive  her  now,  Mary,  won't  yehs,  dear,  all 
her  disobed'ence  ?  All  her  t'ankless  behaviour 
to  her  mudder  an'  all  her  badness  ?  She's 
gone  where  her  ter'ble  sins  will  be  judged." 

The  woman  in  black  raised  her  face  and 
paused.  The  inevitable  sunlight  came  stream 
ing  in  at  the  windows  and  shed  a  ghastly 
cheerfulness  upon  the  faded  hues  of  the 
room.  Two  or  three  of  the  spectators  were 
sniffling,  and  one  was  weeping  loudly.  The 
mourner  arose  and  staggered  into  the  other 
room.  In  a  moment  she  emerged  with  a 


MAGGIE.  157 

pair  of  faded  baby  shoes  held  in  the  hollow 
of  her  hand. 

"  I  kin  remember  when  she  used  to  wear 
dem  !  "  cried  she.  The  women  burst  anew  into 
cries  as  if  they  had  all  been  stabbed.  The 
mourner  turned  to  the  soiled  and  unshaven 
man. 

"  Jimmie,  boy,  go  git  yer  sister  !  Go  git 
yer  sister  an'  we'll  put  deh  boots  on  her 
feets ! " 

"  Dey  won't  fit  her  now,  yeh  fool,"  said 
the  man. 

"  Go  git  yer  sister,  Jimmie  !  "  shrieked  the 
woman,  confronting  him  fiercely. 

The  man  swore  sullenly.  He  went  over  to 
a  corner  and  slowly  began  to  put  on  his  coat. 
He  took  his  hat  and  went  'out,  with  a  drag 
ging,  reluctant  step. 

The  woman  in  black  came  forward  and 
again  besought  the  mourner. 

"  Yeh'll  fergive  her,  Mary  !  Yeh'll  fergive 
yer  bad,  bad  chil'  !  Her  life  was  a  curse  an' 
her  days  were  black  an'  yeh'll  fergive  yer 


1 58  MAGGIE. 

bad  girl  ?  She's  gone  where  her  sins  will  be 
judged." 

"  She's  gone  where  her  sins  will  be 
judged  !  "  cried  the  other  women,  like  a  choir 
at  a  funeral. 

"  Deh  Lord  gives  and  deh  Lord  takes 
away,"  said  the  woman  in  black,  raising  her 
eyes  to  the  sunbeams. 

"  Deh  Lord  gives  and  deh  Lord  takes 
away,"  responded  the  others. 

"  Yeh'll  fergive  her,  Mary  ?  "  pleaded  the 
woman  in  black.  The  mourner  essayed  to 
speak  but  her  voice  gave  way.  She  shook  her 
great  shoulders  frantically,  in  an  agony  of 
grief.  The  tears  seemed  to  scald  her  face. 
Finally  her  voice  came  and  arose  in  a  scream 
of  pain. 

"Oh,  yes,  I'll  fergive  her!  I'll  fergive 
her!" 

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REDS  OF  THE  MIDI.  An  Episode  of  the 
French  Revolution.  By  FELIX  GRAS.  Translated  from  the 
Provengal  by  Mrs.  CATHARINE  A.  JANVIER.  With  an  Intro 
duction  by  THOMAS  A.  JANVIER.  With  Frontispiece.  i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  It  is  doubtful  whether  in  the  English  language  we  have  had  a  more  powerful, 
impressive,  artistic  picture  of  the  French  Revolution,  from  the  revolutionist's  point  of 
view,  than  that  presented  in  Felix  Gras's  '  The  Reds  of  the  Midi.'  .  .  .  Adventures 
follow  one  another  rapidly;  splendid,  brilliant  pictures  are  frequent,  and  the  thread  of 
a  tender,  beautiful  love  story  winds  in  and  out  of  its  pages."  —  New  York  Mail  and 
Express. 

"'The  Reds  of  the  Midi'  is  a  red  rose  from  the  Provence,  a  breath  of  pure  air 
in  the  stifling  atmosphere  of  present  day  romance  —  a  stirring  narrative  of  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  events  of  the  Revolution.  It  is  told  with  all  the  strength  of  simplicity 
and  directness;  it  is  warm  and  pulsating,  and  fairly  trembles  with  excitement."  — 
Chicago  Record. 

"  To  the  names  of  Dickens,  Hugo,  and  Erckmann-Chatrian  must  be  added  that  of 
Felix  Gras,  as  a  romancer  who  has  written  a  tale  of  the  French  Revolution  not  only 
possessing  historical  interest,  but  charming  as  a  story.  A  delightful  piece  of  literature, 
of  a  rare  and  exquisite  flavor."  —  Buffalo  Express. 

"No  more  forcible  presentation  of  the  wrongs  which  the  poorer  classes  suffered  in 
France  at  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  has  ever  been  put  between  the  covers  of  a 
book."  —  Boston  Budget. 

"  Every  page  is,  alive  with  incidents  or  scenes  of  the  time,  and  any  one  who  reads 
it  will  get  a  vivid  picture  that  can  never  be  forgotten  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  in  Paris." 
—  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


GODS,  SOME  MORTALS,  AND  LORD 
WICKENHAM.  By  JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES.  With  Portrait. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Mrs.  Craigie  has  taken  her  place  among  the  novelists  of  the  day.  It  is  a  high 
place  and  a  place  apart.  Her  method  is  her  own,  and  she  stands  not  exactly  on  the 
threshold  of  a  great  career,  but  already  within  the  temple  of  fame."  —  G.  IV.  Smalley, 
in  the  Tribune. 

"  Here  is  the  sweetness  of  a  live  love  story.  ...  It  is  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
brilliants  as  a  novel."  —  Boston  Courier. 

"  One  of  the  most  refreshing  novels  of  the  period,  full  of  grace,  spirit,  force,  feeling, 
and  literary  charm."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Clever  and  cynical,  full  of  epigrams  and  wit,  bright  with  keen  delineations  of 
character,  and  with  a  shrewd  insight  into  life."  —  Newark  Advertiser. 

"  A  novel  of  profound  psychological  knowledge  and  ethical  import.  .  .  .  Worthy 
of  high  rank  in  current  fiction."  —  Boston  Beacon. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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NOVELS   BY   HALL   CAINE. 
MANXMAN.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"A  story  of  marvelous  dramatic  intensity,  and  in  it?  ethical  meaning  has  a  force 
comparable  only  to  Hawthorne's  '  Scarlet  Letter.'  " — Boston  Beacon. 

"A  work  of  power  which  is  another  stone  added  to  the  foundation  of  enduring  fame 
to  which  Mr.  Caine  is  yearly  adding." — Public  Opinion. 

"A  wonderfully  strong  study  of  character;  a  powerful  analysis  of  those  elements 
which  go  to  make  up  the  strength  and  weakness  of  a  man,  which  are  at  fierce  warfare 
within  the  same  breast ;  contending  against  each  other,  as  it  were,  the  one  to  raise  him 
to  fame  and  power,  the  other  to  drag  him  down  to  degradation  and  shame.  Never  in 
the  whole  range  of  literature  have  we  seen  the  struggle  between  these  forces  for 
supremacy  over  the  man  more  powerfully,  more  realistically  delineated  than  Mr.  Caine 
pictures  it." — Boston  Home  Journal. 


T 


HE    DEEMSTER.      A    Romance   of  the   Isle   of 
Man.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Hall  Caine  has  already  given  us  some  very  strong  and  fine  work,  and  '  The 
Deemster'  is  a  story  of  unusual  power.  .  .  .  Certain  passages  and  chapters  have  an 
intensely  dramatic  grasp,  and  hold  the  fascinated  reader  with  a  force  rarely  excited 
nowadays  in  literature." — The  Critic. 

"One  of  the  strongest  novels  which  has  appeared  in  many  a  day." — San  Fran 
cisco  Chronicle. 

"  Fascinates  the  mind  like  the  gathering  and  bursting  of  a  storm." — Illustrated 
London  News. 

"Deserves  to  be  ranked  among  the  remarkable  novels  of  the  day." — Chicago 
Times. 

"T^HE  BONDMAN.     New  edition.     121110.     Cloth, 
*      $1.50. 

"The  welcome  given  to  this  story  has  cheered  and  touched  me,  but  I  am  con 
scious  that,  to  win  a  reception  so  warm,  such  a  book  must  have  had  readers  who 
brought  to  it  as  much  as  they  took  away.  .  .  I  have  called  my  story  a  saga,  merely 
because  it  follows  the  epic  method,  and  1  must  not  claim  for  it  at  any  point  the  weighty 
responsibility  of  history,  or  serious  obligations  to  the  world  of  fact.  But  it  matters  not 
*o  me  what  Icelanders  may  call  '  The  Pondman,'  if  they  will  honor  me  by  rending  it  in 
the  open  hearted  spirit  and  with  the  free  mind  with  which  they  are  content  to  read  of 
Grettir  and  of  his  fights  with  the  Troll."— From  the  Author's  Preface. 


c 


'APT'N    DAVY'S    HONEYMOON.      A    Manx 
Yarn.     I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"A  new  departure  by  this  author.  Unlike  his  previous  works,  this  little  tnle  is 
almost  wholly  humorous,  with,  however,  a  current  of  pathos  underneath.  It  is  not 
ilways  that  an  author  can  succeed  equally  well  in  tragedy  and  in  comedy,  but  it  looks 
as  though  Mr.  Hall  Caine  would  be  one  of  the  exceptions." — London  Literary 
World. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  meet  the  author  of  '  The  Deemster'  in  a  brightly  humorous  little 
story  like  this.  ...  It  shows  the  same  observation  of  Manx  character,  and  much  of 
the  same  artistic  skill." — Philadelphia  Times. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


H 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

BOOKS  BY  MRS.  EVERARD  COTES  (SARA  JEANNETTE  DUNCAN). 
AS1    HONOUR,    AND    A    LADY.      Illustrated. 


i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


"'  His  Honour,  and  a  Lady'  is  a  finished  novel,  colored  with  true  local  dyes  and 
instinct  with  the  Anglo-Indian  and  pure  Indian  spirit,  besides  a  perversion  by  origi 
nality  of  created  character  and  a  crisp  way  of  putting  things." — Chicago  Times- 
Herald. 


T 


HE  STORY  OF  SONNY  SAHIB.      Illustrated. 
I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 
As  perfect  a  story  of  its  kind  as  can  be  imagined." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 


T7ERNON'S    AUNT.     With    many    Illustrations. 
y        I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  most  vivid  and  realistic  impression  of  certain  phases  of  life  in  India,  and  no  one 
can  read  her  vivacious  chronicle  without  indulging  in  many  a  hearty  laugh/' — Boston 
Beacon. 


A 


DAUGHTER  OF  TO-DAY.     A  Novel.     i2mo. 

Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  This  novel  is  a  strong  and  serious  piece  of  work  ;  one  of  a  kind  that  is  getting  too 
rare  in  these  days  of  universal  crankiness." — Boston  Courier. 


A 


SOCIAL  DEPARTURE:  How  Orthododa  and  I 
Went  Round  the  World  by  Ourselves.  With  in  Illustrations 
by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND.  I2mo.  Paper,  75  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.75. 

"  A  brighter,  merrier,  more  entirely  charming  book  would  be,  indeed,  difficult  to 
find."— 6'/.  Louis  Republic. 


A 


N  AMERICAN  GIRL  IN  LONDON.  With  80 
Illustrations  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND.  I2mo.  Paper,  75  cents ; 
cloth,  $1.50. 

"  So  sprightly  a  book  as  this,  on  life  in  London  as  observed  by  an  American,  has 
never  before  been  written." — Philadelphia  Bulletin.  . 


T 


HE  SIMPLE  ADVENTURES  OF  A  MEM- 
SAHIB.  With  37  Illustrations  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND.  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  It  is  like  traveling  without  leaving  one's  armchair  to  read  it  Miss  Duncan  has 
the  descriptive  and  narrative  gift  in  large  measure,  and  shearings  vividly  before  us 
the  street  scenes,  the  interiors,  the  bewilderingly  queer  natives,  the  gayeties  of  the 
English  colony." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

NOVELS  BY  MAARTEN  MAARTENS. 

GREATER  GLORY.  A  Story  of  High  Life. 
By  MAARTEN  MAARTENS,  author  of  "  God's  Fool,"  "  Joost 
Avelingh,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Until  the  Appletons  discovered  the  merits  of  Maarten  Maartens,  the  foremost  of 
Dutch  novelists,  it  is  doubtful  if  many  American  readers  knew  that  there  were  Dutch 
novelists.  His  '  God's  Fool '  and  'Joost  Avelingh  '  made  for  him  an  American  reputa 
tion.  To  our  mind  this  just  published  work  of  his  is  his  best.  .  .  .  He  is  a  master  of 
epigram,  an  artist  in  description,  a  prophet  in  insight." — Boston  Advertiser, 

"  It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  superb  way  in 
which  the  Dutch  novelist  has  developed  his  theme  and  wrought  out  one  of  the  most 
impressive  stories  of  the  period.  ...  It  belongs  tQ  the  small  class  of  novels  which 
one  can  not  afford  to  neglect." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  stands  head  and  shoulders  above  the  average  novelist  of  the 
day  in  intellectual  subtlety  and  imaginative  power." — Boston  Beacon. 


'  FOOL.     By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS.       i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which  would  make  palatable  a  less 
interesting  story  of  human  lives  or  one  less  deftly  told." — London  Saturday  Review. 

"  Perfectly  easy,  graceful,  humorous.  .  .  .  The  author's  skill  in  character-drawing 
is  undeniable." — London  Chronicle. 

"  A  remarkable  work." — New  York  Times. 

"Maarten  Maartens  has  secured  a  firm  footing  in  the  eddies  of  current  literature. 
.  .  .  Pathos  deepens  into  tragedy  in  the  thrilling  story  of '  God's  Fool.'" — 2'hiUidel* 
phia  Ledger. 

"  Its  preface  alone  stamps  the  author  as  one  of  the  leading  English  novelists  of 
to-day." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"The  story  is  wonderfully  brilliant.  .  .  .  The  interest  never  lags;  the  style  is 
realistic  and  intense;  and  there  is  a  constantly  underlying  current  of  subtle  humor. 
...  It  is,  in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read." 
— Boston  Times. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point." — New  York  Observer. 

VOST  AVELINGH.      By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"So  unmistakably  good  as  to  induce  the  hope  that  an  acquaintance  with  the  Dutch 
literature  of  fiction  may  soon  become  more  general  among  us." — London  Morning 
Post. 

"  In  scarcely  any  of  the  sensational  novels  of  the  day  will  the  reader  find  more 
nature  or  more  human  nature." — London  Standard. 

"A  novel  of  a  very  high  type.  At  once  strongly  realistic  and  powerfully  ideal 
istic." — London  Literary  World. 

"  Full  of  local  color  and  rich  in  quaint  phraseology  and  suggestion." — London. 


"  Maarten  Maartens  is  a  capital  story-teller." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
"Our  English  writers  of  fiction  will  have  to  look  to  their  laurels." — Birmingham 
Daily  Post. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO..  72  Fifth 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


T  TNCLE  REMUS.  His  Songs  and  his  Sayings.  By 
^"^  JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS.  With  new  Preface  and  Revisions, 
and  112  Illustrations  by  A.  B.  Frost.  Library  Edition.  I2mo. 
Buckram,  gilt  top,  uncut,  $2.00.  Also,  Edition  de  luxe  of  the 
above,  limited  to  250  copies,  each  signed  by  the  author,  with 
the  full-page  cuts  mounted  on  India  paper.  8vo.  White  vel 
lum,  gilt  top,  $10.00. 

"  The  old  tales  of  the  plantation  have  never  been  told  as  Mr.  Harris  has  told  them. 
Each  narrative  is  to  the  point,  and  so  swift  in  its  action  upon  the  risibilities  of  the 
reader  that  one  almost  loses  consciousness  of  the  printed  page,  and  fancies  it  is  the 
voice  of  the  lovable  old  darky  himself  that  steals  across  the  senses  and  brings  mirth 
inextinguishable  as  it  comes;  .  .  .  and  Mr.  Frost's  drawings  are  so  supetlatively  good, 
so  inexpressibly  funny,  that  they  promise  to  make  this  the  standard  edition  of  a  stand 
ard  book." — New  York  Tribune. 

"An  exquisite  volume,  full  of  good  illustrations,  rnd  if  there  is  anybody  in  this 
country  who  doesn't  know  Mr.  Harris,  here  is  an  opportunity  to  make  his  acquaint 
ance  and  have  many  a  good  laugh." — New  York  Herald. 


There  is  but  one  '  Uncle  Remus,'  and  he  will  never  grow  old.  ...  It  was  a 
appy  thought  that  of  marrin     the  work  of  Harris  and  Fr 
and  Kxpress. 


, 
happy  thought,  that  of  marrying  the  work  of  Harris  and  Frost."  —  JVew  York  Mail 


"  Nobody  could  possibly  have  done  this  work  better  than  Mr.  Frost,  whose  appre 
ciation  of  negro  life  fitted  him  especially  to  be  the  interpreter  of  Uncle  Remus,'  and 
whose  sense  of  the  humor  in  animal  life  makes  these  drawings  really  illustrations  in  the 
fullest  sense.  Mr.  Harris's  well-known  work  has  become  in  a  sense  a  classic,  and  this 
may  be  accepted  as  the  standard  edition.  "  —  Philadelphia  Times. 

"A  book  which  became  a  classic  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  published.  .  .  .  Mr.  Frost 
has  never  done  anything  better  in  the  way  of  illustration,  if  indeed  he  has  done  any 
thing  as  good."  —  Boston  Advertiser. 

"  We  pity  the  reader  who  has  not  yet  made  the  acquaintance  of  '  Uncle  Remus  ' 
and  his  charming  story.  .  .  .  Mr.  Harris  has  made  a  real  addition  to  literature  purely 
and  strikingly  American,  and  Mr.  Frost  has  aided  in  fixing  the  work  indelibly  on  the 
consciousness  of  the  American  reader."  —  7  he  Churchman. 

"  The  old  fancies  of  the  old  negro,  dear  as  they  may  have  been  to  us  these  many 
years,  seem  to  gain  new  life  when  they  nppear  through  the  medium  of  Mr.  Frost's 
imagination."  —  New  York  Home  Journal. 

"  In  his  own  peculiar  field  'Uncle  Remus'  has  no  rival.  The  book  has  become  a 
c'assic,  but  the  latest  edition  is  the  choice  one.  It  is  rarely  riven  to  an^  author  to  see 
his  work  accompanied  by  pictures  so  closely  in  sympathy  with  his  text."—  San  Fran 
cisco  A  ?  gonaut. 

"  We  say  it  with  the  utmost  faith  that  there  is  not  an  artist  who  works  in  illustra 
tion  that  can  catch  the  attitude  and  expression,  the  slyness,  the  innate  depravity,  the 
eye  of  surprise,  obstinacy,  the  hang  of  the  head  or  the  kick  of  the  heels  of  the  mute  and 
the  brute  creation  as  Mr.  Frost  has  shown  to  us  here."—  Baltimore  Sun. 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON   &   CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


T 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

HE  THREE  MUSKETEERS.  By  ALEXANDRE 
DUMAS.  With  a  Letter  from  Alexandre  Dumas,  Jils,  and  250 
Illustrations  by  Maurice  Leloir.  New  popular  edition  in  two 
volumes.  8vo.  Cloth,  $4.00. 

"This  is  undoubtedly  the  most  superb  edition  of  Dumas's  masterpiece  that  has  ever 
been  printed.  A  book  to  delight  the  senses  as  well  as  the  mind.  Both  without  and 
•within  it  is  all  that  a  book  can  possibly  be." — Chicago  Tintes-Herald. 

"  He  who  has  read  '  The  Three  Musketeers '  as  a  boy  will  be  almost  as  grateful  to 
Maurice  Leloir  for  renewing  his  pleasure,  as  to  Dumas  for  conferring  it  in  the  first  in 
stance.  ...  It  may  be  said  that,  until  he  was  illustrated  by  Leloir,  no  one  not  a  French 
antiquarian  could  have  understood  him  thoroughly." — The  Critic. 

"  We  can  not  have  too  many  editions  of  Dumas,  and  this  particular  one  of  his  ro 
mances  is  so  brilliant,  so  interesting,  so  lovable,  that  in  this  new  dress  it  taker,  at  once 
a  more  favored  place  than  ever  in  the  affections  of  his  followers." — New  York  '1  rilnn:e. 

"The  present  of  such  a  book  to  almost  any  one  is  to  insure  grateful  remembrance 
for  many  years." — New  York  World. 

"  Leloir  has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  times  and  has  made  the  personages  seem  real." 
— New  York  Times. 

"  There  is  no  edition  equal  to  this  in  the  quality  of  the  illustrations  or  in  the  care 
which  has  been  bestowed  upon  the  translation." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"The  edition  now  given  to  the  public  is  most  elegant  in  all  its  appointments.  The 
illustrations  by  Maurice  Leloir  are  magnificent,  and  are  spirited  enough  to  be  in  accord 
with  their  subject." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  In  this  new  and  really  magnificent  dress  the  wonderfully  dramatic  and  picturesque 
effects  of  the  tale  are  admirably  emphasized,  for  Maurice  Leloir  is  an  artist  who  por 
trays  something  more  than  surfaces.  ...  It  would  be  difficult  to  praise  too  highly  the 
varied  vigor  and  charm  which  he  has  provided  to  accompany  the  chronicle  of  '  The 
Three  Musketeers.'  " — Boston  Beacon. 

"  This  standard  romance  has  never  been  issued  in  more  attractive  and  servirenble 
form.  The  young  who  have  never  become  acquainted  with  the  three  knights,  and  the 
old  who  desire  to  renew  their  impressions,  will  alike  find  this  edition  a  most  agreeable 
medium." — St.  Paul  Pioneer  Press. 

"There  can  be  no  edition  equal  to  this  in  the  quality  of  the  text,  or  in  the  care 
which  has  been  bestowed  upon  the  translation,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  final  and 
standard  English  edition  of 'The  Three  Musketeers  '  is  now  presented  to  the  public." 
—Elmira  Telegram. 

"  Maurice  Leloir  has  studied  the  characters  of  Dumas's  work  until  he  has  caught 
their  spirit,  and  it  is  a  real  d'Artagnan  who  walks  through  the  pages.  Kis  Athos, 
Porthos,  and  Aramis  are  alive;  his  duel  scenes  are  pictures  of  real  men,  and  not  lay 
figures." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


New  York  :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


